Synthesis
by the morrighan
Summary: The aftermath of two different, yet similar realities colliding.
1. Chapter 1

Synthesis

Red.

John Sheppard stared down at the color. The crimson shadings of the scrubs he wore as he lay on the cot in the infirmary. The color was bright, glaring, reminding him of blood and he closed his eyes briefly. It evoked images, memories of his own injuries from which he was healing. The savage cut on his arm. The bullet wound to his leg. The scrapes and cuts from a vicious fight. A bullet's graze on his side.

Other images filled his mind. The face of his former lieutenant. Not as he had been before John had killed him, a mutated, irrational man addicted to the enzyme and being overpowered by the Wraith transplanted cells inhabiting his newly attached arm. No, he appeared in John's mind as the gentle, humorous young man he had been when they had first journeyed to the Pegasus galaxy. Had first discovered Atlantis. Had first discovered the Wraith.

John frowned, shoving all those thoughts aside, but they lingered. The memory of shooting his former lieutenant. Two killing shots. Cold. Precise. He mused on the Jumper shot down during that last mission. The loss of Torres and his men. Gone instantly, vaporized. Banks, another marine killed on the mission.

He turned his head, as if to shunt out the memories but the guilt shadowed him. Darkened his thoughts, his mood. He opened his eyes, looked round the infirmary. Looking for one person in particular. One person who could banish the shadows, could douse the guilt and at least understand it, at least push it aside for a little while. He didn't see her, and a jolt of panic bloomed in his chest. Until he heard a clatter towards the back. Heard her voice, then Carson's.

He carefully got out of the bed. Slipped his feet into slippers and made his way towards the sounds. Realizing with a grimace where he was heading.

The morgue.

* * *

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Moira Sheppard exclaimed, kneeling to gather the instruments that had fallen from the tray she had dropped.

Carson Beckett moved to her. Hands encased in blue rubber gloves. A scalpel in his hand. "It's all right, love. No harm done. Why don't you take a wee break?"

"Yes, I...I need..." She stood, set the tray on the table. Glanced at the body of Aiden Ford. At the Wraith-like appendage they had been carefully examining. Dissecting. She felt her stomach turn over and pulled off the rubber gloves. "I just need a moment."

"Of course, love. Go on," Carson agreed, nodding.

Moira stepped out of the room, stood near the open doorway. She leaned against the wall, hand on her stomach. She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Carson! I just felt queasy all of a sudden. And no, I don't want any drugs so don't offer. I'll be fine. I haven't been sleeping too well. When I do sleep I dream...I remember...I..." The darkling images of the alternate Sheppard filled her mind. His roughness. His care. The shared intimacy. "And I don't want to remember so I don't go back to sleep. I just need...I just need..." Her voice faltered softly, as she clamped down on the surge of emotion.

"Me."

Moira's eyes flew open. To see John standing near, gaze on her. Expression full of concern, of protectiveness. "John? No! I mean, you shouldn't be out of bed yet! Here, I'll take you back–"

She grabbed his arm.

"No." He pulled her gently into an embrace. Kissed her brow. "No, Moira. You need to sleep. You need me. I need you. We need privacy. Bed. Intimacy," he said low into her ear. Brushed his lips across her cheek as she took a step back from him. He looked past her to the room. "Ford?"

"Yes. You don't need to see this, John, please!" She tried to pull him away from the sight but he didn't move. Stood staring at the corpse of his former lieutenant. His former friend. The man he had killed. "John, please! Come away!"

"What are you doing out of bed, colonel?" Carson asked, joining them. He eyed the pair. Moira pulling gently at John's arm but John was immobile. As if he was planted there.

"Taking care of my wife," he retorted. Met the doctor's gaze. "Can't you see how weary she is? How upset?"

"Yes, but she refuses to leave your side or leave this work. And you should be in bed, John."

"No. That is, not here. I'd like to get cleaned up, put on some comfortable clothes and rest. In my room. In our room," he corrected, glancing at Moira. She was watching him worriedly.

"Very well, colonel, but take it easy."

"I'll get him sorted, Carson, and then return to–"

"No, you won't. Let's go." John began to lead her across the infirmary. Limping.

Moira frowned. "John, lean on me. You need–"

"No. You've been hurt. I'm the one that hurt you," he said, still not believing he had hit her, however accidently. He walked awkwardly.

Moira sighed. "Get over it, John! It wasn't your fault! It was mine! Don't be so stubborn!" She took his arm, guided him slowly. "I'm fine, John. Really. Don't you worry about me. It wasn't your fault, okay? Don't."

"So you say, Moira, but I know you. I know you're not fine. Not at all. We need privacy. I need you. You need to tell me everything. In private. But first I need something to eat."

She smiled. Guided him to her room. Past it into his.

He looked longingly back at the bed. "Hey! Our bed is more–"

"Yes, but you have the better bathroom, and you said you wanted to get cleaned up, right?" She led him to his bed. "Here. Do you need my help, John?"

He sat, considering. Watching her as she waited, her gaze moving over him in concern. "Well, I'd hate to drop my loofah...so yeah...actually." He smiled.

Moira smirked, shook her head. "Behave, sweetie. I'll go get your lunch. Take it easy."

"What about my loofah, baby?" he asked, pouting.

She neared. Kissed him. "We can examine your loofah later, sweetie."

"Promise, baby?" he asked, catching her hand. The kiss had been far too chaste for his liking. She was tense, uncertain. Sorrow clung like a shadow to her.

"Yes. Now make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in five."

John sighed. Wondered how to break through her defenses to find out what was wrong. To get past the calm exterior. To bypass all the concern and worry over him. He stood, limped to the bathroom. Stripped slowly. Examined the bruises on his torso. Carefully he unwrapped the bandages on his leg, his arm. Scowled at the wounds marring his skin. His muscles were sore. Tight. He stretched a little, then stepped into the shower and let the hot water pound him.

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes. Water sluiced over his face, neck, down his broad shoulders. Across his torso. Lightly stinging the cuts as it sloshed along his arms and legs. He opened his eyes, grabbed the soap. Wishing that Moira was with him. Was running her hands over him. Was naked in the shower with him. His anatomy stirred at the thought, at the images he was invoking. He smirked. "Not yet, boy, not yet," he sighed. Wanting.

* * *

Moira grabbed a tray. Nearly dropped it. She softly swore, held it steady and loaded it with the food John wanted. A thick, juicy burger. Loaded. A side of fries. A bottle of his beloved beer. She carried it carefully, feeling her stomach tighten at the smell of the food. She licked her lips, headed across the room but stumbled, nearly dropping the tray yet again. But a hand suddenly steadied it for her.

"Moira? Are you all right?" Evan Lorne's hand braced the tray from underneath as his gaze perused her. Worry lined his face, was reflected in his blue eyes.

Moira smiled. "I'm fine. Just tired, is all. And a little queasy...after...the..."

"Oh." Evan nodded, freed the tray and walked with her as she carried it out of the cafeteria. "Ford," he noted. "Word is he is more Wraith than man. Is that true?"

"No. Only his arm. The synthesis of the two organisms is striking, and scary."

"I take it that's for the colonel. How is he?"

"Recovering. Slowly."

"It was weird, Moira. Well, you know how weird it was. Having two Sheppards. I couldn't believe my eyes when they appeared, with you between them. Rodney was trying to explain all about the alternate realities but I might have fallen asleep in the middle."

She smiled. "Weird is one way of putting it, Evan." She glanced at him. "You don't blame John for what he did, do you? I mean, I mean for shooting Ford? He had no choice, you know."

"I know. He gave Ford a choice but Ford wouldn't take it. No...I don't. Some might," he added quietly as they passed some people in the hallways. "After Sumner, you know. One of our own and all. Except Ford really wasn't any more. And after Parrish...but that was different."

"No one can blame him more than he blames himself, despite seeing the necessity," she said sadly. "I wish I could, I wish I could help him."

"You can, Moira. Talk to him. And get some rest yourself. You look exhausted."

She smiled. "Gee, thanks, Evan. Such a charmer." They laughed.

* * *

John sat at the table in his room, waiting. He ran a hand through his damp hair. Clad in a comfortable gray t-shirt and running pants he lounged. Rubbed his clean-shaven chin. Felt better just by being clean, in his own clothes, in his own room. He spotted Moira's data pad on the table. Pulled it to him. Curious he opened it. Saw the flash drive the colonel had given her inserted. He tapped some buttons. The screen lit, but was blank. The cursor blinking. Waiting. Waiting for a password.

Moira entered the room. She carried the tray to the table, gazing upon him. He appeared more relaxed. More at ease. His handsome face was set in a frown as he considered, staring at the blank screen. The waiting cursor. "Any ideas?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry! I..." he shut it down, closed it with a shrug.

"It's all right, John. I need your help, actually. To break the password code. I haven't had much time to work on it."

"Wouldn't Rodney be better at this kind of thing?" he asked, eyes moving to the food. His stomach growled at the aroma.

"No. It's for our eyes only. Mine. And yours. For now. Your other, um, self set the passwords and encryptions. So either one of us should be able to figure them out, right? Here. Eat."

John pulled the tray to him, straightening in the chair. Smiled. Grinned at the beer. "Ah baby. Moira, will you marry me?" he teased, taking a generous sip of the amber liquid.

She snatched some fries, sat next to him. "Hey, a proposal not after sex? And we're both clothed? Wow, John, you are improving."

He laughed. "Hilarious, Moira." He proceeded to eat, fondly watching her as she snatched a few more fries. She sipped a Coke she had brought with her. "Did you–"

"No, this is enough. I'm not hungry," she explained. Watching him.

"Not hungry? You were stranded on that planet for three days, nearly four. I remember the choices of foods were not that varied. Fruit, or fruit. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, John. Don't you worry. My stomach isn't settled yet after the...you know." She glanced at the table.

"Ford," he stated. Swallowed. Sipped more beer. "What are your findings so far?"

"Not now, John. You don't need to think about that." She looked up to watch him eat. Big bites of the burger. Mayonnaise squirted along the corner of his mouth and he licked his lips. A darting of his tongue. He drank long swallows of the beer, Adam's apple bobbing as he tilted his head back. Made a satisfied sound before grabbing a handful of fries.

John enjoyed his food. Fully conscious of Moira watching him. Her ardent interest although she tried to hide it. Turned to look round the room, as if searching for something. He smiled. But wondered at her unease. "Talk to me, sweetheart," he invited, taking another bite.

"I'm fine, John," she replied, automatically. Trying to ignore him. To ignore her own sensual appraisals of him. A knock sounded on the door. She nearly flew from the chair in an odd mixture of relief and annoyance. Opened it. "Rodney, please," she invited.

Rodney McKay entered the room. "Thanks. I just thought I'd check on John since he finally got his lazy ass out of the infirmary to oh lunch? Good! I brought extra, in case." He carried in a tray, made room on the table for it and sat next to his friend. "Oh! Congratulations, by the way! To both of you." Without another word he attacked his own sandwich.

John raised a brow. Glanced at Moira who shrugged. "Okay. Mission accomplished, I guess."

"No? Well, yes, on that. But I meant your marriage. Your marriage to Moira. I'm sorry I doubted you and didn't believe you, John. Elizabeth filled me in, so to speak. So anyway, congratulations. I haven't paid Carson yet but I will," he grumbled.

"Paid Carson?" Moira asked, still standing near the door.

John smirked. "They had a bet on whether or not I was going to propose."

"A bet?" she asked, frowning.

Rodney exchanged a glance with John. Viewed Moira as he swallowed. "Yes...just a little harmless bet, Moira. No harm no foul. Right? Just a guy thing, is all."

"You made a bet on whether or not John was going to–" A knock cut off her rising indignation. She sighed, moved to the door. Opened it. "Evan? Please, come in."

"Moira. I thought the colonel could use...oh, Rodney." Evan paused.

John smiled at the six-pack the major was holding. "Good thinking, major. I can always use that. Join us. Rodney brought enough food for a party."

"I did not! There's barely enough for me!" the scientist protested, scowling. Nevertheless he scooted over as Evan pulled up a chair, set the six-pack on the table. Grabbed a sandwich off Rodney's tray and started to eat it. "I sincerely hope this isn't a prelude to another drunken sing-a-long," he grumbled.

"No, it's not," Moira assured. She walked over as John was grabbing another beer. She smacked the back of his head.

"Ow! What the–" he protested.

"One only! Doctor's orders. I think you've had–" Another knock. "For crying out loud!" she grumbled, causing the men to smile.

"Hey, Evan, did you know they were married?" Rodney asked.

"Yeah. I didn't believe it at first," Evan confessed.

"Neither did I. Hey, John, you never had–"

"Carson? Come on," Moira said tiredly, stepping aside.

"Thanks, love. I thought I'd better check on the pair of you and oh! Is this a gathering now? With beer?"

"And food. Rodney brought enough," Evan invited.

"I barely have enough for us, let alone him!" Rodney complained with a heavy sigh.

"I'm famished!" Carson pulled up a chair, grabbed a sandwich.

"I hardly have any–" Rodney began to protest.

"Oh please, you've devoured two already!" John noted. The men laughed.

"Oh. Here." Rodney flung a five dollar bill at his friend.

"About bloody time!" Carson exclaimed, pocketing the money. The men laughed.

"Well, how was I to know? I mean, well, come on! John?" Rodney asked, glancing at Moira who was standing near the door like a sentinel, watching them. "The bet was his idea, you know."

"It was, but I knew I was right," Carson agreed, glanced at Moira and smiled. "Easiest money I've ever made. I knew you two would get married."

"How? I never would have guessed that in a million years! No disrespect intended," he added hastily, glancing at Moira again, then to John who was beginning to glower, "but come on!"

"I'd stop right there if I were you," Evan advised. Causing more laughter.

"Yes, I guess you're right. So, um, congratulations."

"Congratulations!" the men chimed in. Clattered their bottles of beer against each other's.

John smiled. "Thank you." He looked at Moira. "Come join us, Moira. There's plenty."

Moira shook her head, moved to sit on John's bed after snatching her data pad off the table.

"Say! We need to throw you a bachelor party! As best man I'll organize the whole thing!" Rodney exclaimed.

"Whoa, whoa, who ever said you would have been the best man?" Evan asked, shaking his head.

"It's obvious, isn't it? John, tell him!" Rodney insisted.

John smirked. "Tell him what, Rodney?"

"Ha ha. As best man it would have been my solemn duty to arrange the bachelor party. So we can do it now."

"Here, here! Do it right, though!" Carson agreed with a smile. The men clinked their bottles together in avid agreement.

"Uh, is that all right, Moira?" Evan asked. Suddenly all of the men looked at her.

She looked up from the data pad, smiled. "Of course, Evan. But no strippers."

The men laughed. Rodney groaned. "Oh come on, Moira! That's a fine tradition!"

"Not in this galaxy, Rodney," she warned. They laughed.

John smiled. "You heard my wife. No strippers. At least not in this galaxy. Although since I'm already married the whole bachelor party idea seems kind of moot."

"Then we'll move it!" Rodney enthused, ignoring the objection. "Move the party to Earth! Strippers are allowed in that galaxy, thank God!"

"Vegas. The only way to go," Evan stated with a grin.

"Yeah, right. I'll just ask Caldwell if we can arrange a party in Vegas and go all at the same time. He'd love that," John wryly noted.

"All right, so we're stuck here," Rodney conceded. "But we can get our supplies from Earth, right? And strippers–"

"No strippers," Moira interjected. The men laughed.

"What about lap dancers?" John suggested, gaze on her.

"Hilarious, John. No."

"At this rate we'll be lucky to get an aged Athosian stick fighter," Evan mourned. Laughter. The men drank, finishing their food in quick swallows.


	2. Chapter 2

Synthesis2

Moira smiled, watching the men finish their food. The atmosphere was convivial, lively. Her gaze roved among the friends. Evan appearing the youngest among them, fresh-faced but a quick intelligence and humor sparkled in his blue eyes. He was clad casually, a brown button down shirt and jeans. Only the military haircut marked him as being Air Force. Carson was reclining in the chair. His white lab coat still draped over his blue shirt and pants. A congenial smile on his face, blue eyes flashing with humor. A shadow of scruff lining his chin and jaw. His Scottish accent becoming more pronounced as he heartily imbibed the liquor.

Rodney had almost finished his food. His smile contagious, his enthusiasm shining as he involved all of his friends in the planning of the bachelor party. He wore his pale blue shirt and pants, always the scientist even during his downtime. His hands gestured with his words once they were free of food. John was lounging back in his chair, watching his friends for a moment. His handsome face full of humor, of indulgence as they spoke of the party he really didn't want in the first place. His brilliant green eyes sparkled. Relaxing at the pleasant diversion from more serious concerns.

"All right," John said, as the food was nearly gone, as was the beer. "I do appreciate the thought, but I don't need a bachelor party. Deal's done. Mission accomplished."

"You're still getting one, damn it! If you don't want to come that's fine, but we're going! Right?" Rodney asked, eying his friends. Assent all round.

"Moira, you don't have any objections, do you, love? Apart from the strippers?" Carson asked.

She shook her head. "No. A party would be good, I think. As long as John wants one."

"I don't want one," he objected again, but was ignored.

"But we do, so he's overruled," Evan asserted. "Sir. You know, I bet we could get Caldwell onboard with his," he suggested, gesturing with his empty bottle. "If we phrase it right, I mean. Weir will be the stickler, though."

"Yeah, she's caught us twice now. Hmm...we'll need a good location. Somewhere on the south pier, I think," Rodney mused, rubbing his chin in thought.

"He's right!" Carson set down his beer. "I know the perfect spot! Are we inviting the marines?"

"Of course!" Evan stated, emphatic. "But no more scientists!"

"Hell yes, more scientists!" Rodney argued.

"Boys," Moira cautioned. Their voices were rising as was their slightly inebriated enthusiasm.

"We'll need to draw up a list of supplies," Evan said. "Food. Snacks. Beer."

"Lots of beer," John agreed. He longingly eyed the last bottle of beer.

"We need entertainment!" Carson decided. "Music!"

"Dancers! Dancers, not strippers, Moira," Rodney clarified.

"Dancers without clothes!" Evan corrected. Boisterous laughter erupted.

"Blondes! I want blondes!" Rodney declared.

"Blondes are scarce in these parts," John laconically noted, producing laughter. "Not that it matters to me," he added, watching Moira as she closed the data pad. Brushed a stray strand of her brown hair behind her ear. Her alert gaze darted to the door.

"Quiet. Quiet!" she hissed, moving to her feet. The men fell silent. Guiltily eyed each other like little boys caught doing something they shouldn't be doing. Moira smirked at their expressions, but a knock sounded on the door.

"Oh oh," Rodney said. Snorted.

"Busted," Carson agreed. Smirked.

"It's your ass on the line. Sir," Evan noted. Grinned.

"Mine? I didn't invite any of you," John argued.

Moira opened the door. "Aaron."

"Moira," Aaron Josephes smiled. "I just wanted to see if you or Colonel Sheppard needed anything."

"More beer!" called Carson. The men laughed, relaxing.

"No, thank you, Aaron. Actually...come in. John?" She turned.

"Fine, Moira. Lieutenant, come join the party," John invited with a sigh.

"Party, sir?" the younger man asked, entering. He stared at the gathering.

"We're planning one. For John's bach...oh! Does he know?" asked Rodney.

"No. I guess he may as well," John shrugged.

"Sir?" Aaron asked, having no clue. He glanced at Moira as she stood at the closed door.

"John and Moira are married," Evan explained, grabbing the last beer and handing it to Aaron.

"But keep it to yourself for now."

"Yes," John said. Regretting the loss of that last beer. "We have to keep it quiet for now. Until all the flak hits from above. So no spilling secrets," he warned, slurring a little.

Moira frowned. She moved to John, touched his shoulder. "John! Did you have another beer?"

"Only half a one, Moira. It won't make me drunk," he argued.

"We'll get him plastered at his party," Rodney assured. Laughter.

Moira sighed. "Well, this party is over." The men groaned. "Go on! John needs his rest. He's got to meet Caldwell later today, so scoot! All of you!"

"Yes, Mrs. Sheppard," Evan said. Laughter.

"Or is it Doctor Sheppard?" Rodney quipped.

"It's Doctor O'Meara, now go!" she ordered, smiling at their teasing, their reluctance. "And take your bottles, please. This is not a frat house!" The men laughed.

"It's Mrs. Colonel Sheppard," Carson jested.

Moira shook her head, herded the laughing men out of the room. She closed the door. Turned and moved to John who was watching, smiling. "What?"

"Which is it, sweetheart? Moira Sheppard...I so want to have sex with my Moira Slep, sheps, Sheppards."

"Hilarious, John." She took his hand, led him to the bed but he stopped her.

"No. Yours. I mean ours. Better bed." He led her through the threshold to her adjoining room. To her bed. He sat, reclined and got comfortable. Scooted up to the pillows. "Ah. Moira."

She smiled as he sprawled, stretching carefully. His long, lean body clad in gray. The material loose but outlining his form. She sat. Scooted to recline next to him. "John, rest."

"On top. I like waking up with your sprawled on top of me. Preferably naked. Preferably after sex. Exuberant sex."

She carefully slid over him. Mindful of his bruises, of hers. "How's that? You should rest."

"Kiss me."

She did so. A gentle motion of her lips across his. "John, go to–"

He drew her into a lengthy kiss. "Baby, we need to talk. I need to know everything, Moira. I won't be upset, or mad. If you...I mean...you chose me. Me. You are mine, Moira. Mine."

She tensed, but kissed him. Stroked his bruised jaw. "Yes, John."

"I'm serious, sweetheart. Mine. All of you." He stroked her back, gaze locked with hers. Moving a little to better align her body with his. "Why are you so sad? You have to tell me, Moira. Everything. Did he...did I, no, did he do something to you? Did he hurt you? Is it Ford? Did he hurt you? I...I had to kill him, Moira. He refused to surrender. I gave him the chance. I couldn't just leave him out there, you know. I had to kill him. He was a threat to you. To you. To us. To Atlantis. He killed Banks. Wounded Andrews and Marsden. He shot down...he fucking shot down a Jumper! Killed Torres and his men! He...we lost them, Moira. I lost them...I fucked up this whole thing but shit! Shit, what was I supposed to do? He ran into Michael, he said. God, can you imagine if they joined forces? Moira...did the colonel tell you exactly how the city fell? Is that on the flash drive? I need to know. I need to know what he did to you, Moira. He's not me. Not me. I'm me. Nothing. Nothing would have stopped me from coming after you, Moira. If I had to crawl through the 'Gate to save you I would have."

Moira felt tears, listening to his every word, his every emotion rippling through them. She stroked his cheek, his jaw. She kissed him. Repeatedly. Needing to comfort, to console him. To taste him. His lips gentle, soft. Full. His tongue teasing. His scent clean, fresh. A hint of Aqua Velva and a whiff of cologne marking him different from the colonel. From his darker self. His skin smooth. Hands gentle as they played on her back. His body firm, warm under hers. "John...John..." she whispered.

He drew her close, tasting her tears. Drinking in her sorrow, her worry. Her love. "Moira." He ran his mouth down her throat. His fingers sliding up under her shirt to feel her bare skin. He paused, glancing down to see the bruise at her side but she shifted so he couldn't see it. "You wanted to go with him, didn't you?" he realized. She froze on him, brown eyes widening. Guilt and sorrow brimming to the surface. "Is that it? You feel guilty. You think you should have gone with him, is that it? Let me guess...to help him save the city, save the survivors? To find a way to end those enhanced Wraith? He played you like a fiddle, didn't he? Because you love him because he's me. Is that it?"

Moira couldn't speak. Voice frozen in her throat. Body locked on his. Her fingers stopped their gentle caress as his green eyes bore into hers. A surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm, to drown her. "John...please..." she finally whispered, trying to move. She slid off him but he caught her. Rolled so they were facing each other. He pulled her to him, pressing his body to hers. Allowing no escape, no respite.

"That's it, isn't it? You can tell me, Moira. You think you should have gone with him. Like he needs you more than I do. That's not true, sweetheart. Not at all! Don't you listen to him! Don't you ever believe a word he says! To get what he wants he'll do anything, say anything. Did he? Get what he wanted from you?" John hadn't planned to ask, had decided to leave it alone but it slipped out of him. Her sorrow making him jealous. Making him angry. Finding it odd the man he was seemingly competing with was himself. "Moira?"

"Stop it, John!" She pushed free, sat. Tears spilling out of her eyes now as she stared at the room. Her room. Her things. But their bed.

"Look, just tell me. I won't be mad," he said, but his voice was low. Tension rode it. "I mean, it was me, so it wasn't like you...I mean...did you? Moira, talk to me, damn it!"

"You really want to know?" she snapped, hating herself. Hating him for his perception. His persistence. Knew he would not leave it alone despite his good intentions. She met his gaze. Using her anger to shield her. "Yes. I should have gone with him! Do you know why? Because I would have been of more use there than here! No," she raised a hand before he could object, "it's true! He's lost everything, John! Nearly everything now! And I understand that! In a way that you can't, because we...we lost...we know what it's like to bear the kind of loss that you haven't borne yet! And never will, I pray! He needs my help! And yes, he played me. He offered me all kinds of things. Pleistocene Park. Real research. A way to go between our two realities, in time. Yes," she acknowledged to his surprise, "he offered to let me return here. In time. To help both of our worlds against the Wraith. Against whatever may be coming!"

"But you chose me," he finally interjected. Stubborn. Staring hard at her. Wanting to shake some sense into her. At the same time wanting to embrace her, comfort her. Make her his own again.

"Yes. Do you know why I didn't go with him?" she asked. Voice softening now. She looked at her hands. Blinked away the tears. "Because I was selfish. Because I couldn't, I just couldn't leave you, John. I love you. I want to be with you and only you. Because I will not allow you to bear that loss, like I do. Like he does. Whatever is in your past...mine is worse. So I stayed. I chose you, John. And yes, I feel guilty about that. Because he needs me more than you do...but I...I need you more than I need him. And yes...I know you might not accept that, or accept me, or accept what I've done...but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I love you, John. And I have to be with you."

He touched her arm. Fingers caressing. "Moira. I–"

"And I hate what you did! What I made you do!" she continued. "Coming after me like that! Injured! What the hell were you thinking, John! If anything had happened to you I never would have forgiven myself! So maybe I should have gone with him after all, if only to protect you from your own reckless stupidity!"

He smiled a moment. "It wouldn't have mattered, Moira. I'd still come after you. No matter what. I love you, Moira. And I don't care what you did with him. I don't. Because it was me, after all, well, a version of me. You did what you needed to do. Same as me, Moira. I'll always come after you, Moira. So you may as well stay with me 'cause that will never, never change."

"Stubborn idiot," she muttered, but a smile hovered on her lips. She wiped her eyes. Met his gaze. "John?"

He smiled. "Moira. My Moira. Now come here, sweetheart. We need to sleep now. After all this talking stuff, emotional crap...God, I'm tired. Come here."

She smiled, reclined next to him. Snuggled against him, hiding her face on his chest. Fingers clutching at his t-shirt. "John...I'm sorry! So sorry for the loss of your men. For what you had to do to Ford! For...for...I'm so sorry, John!"

"Ssh." He kissed her brow, held her close. "My Moira. Doesn't matter. Nothing gets between us," he muttered, closing his eyes. His aching muscles relaxing in the bed. The beer giving him a pleasant buzz, dulling his thoughts, his feelings. "Nothing. Nothing stops me from saving you. Nothing, no one gets between us. Moira...Moira...my Moira...love you, love you..."

"I'm sorry! John...I never...you shouldn't have...you shouldn't have come after–" she stammered, feeling responsible.

"Nothing...no one...my Moira...I'll kill anyone who comes between us..." he slurred, snorted.

Moira stared, felt a weird thrill in her frame at his words. His voice low, intense. Gruff like his alternate self's voice but there was gentleness there too. Protection. "John?" She ran her hand along his arm. Felt the muscle, the strength. She almost gulped at the thought. Memories of passion flitted. She chased them away, snuggled next to him again.

"Moira," he muttered, shifting on his side. Pulling her so every inch of her was pressed along his body. His face half-hidden in her hair. His breath tickling her skin. Content to just hold her for now. To keep her close. To smell the scent of her. Vanilla and strawberry and herself.

Moira relaxed as his voice drifted into a slur, then silence. As his hold gentled on her. His breathing slowing. The rise and fall of his chest comforting as he slid into slumber. His warmth consoling. Solid. Familiar. His assurances sincere, but she knew he wouldn't let it go. Not just yet. But she trusted in his love. His passion. His need for her.

She nestled into him, fingers running along his chest. Felt the wedding ring underneath. Smiled. Felt the strength, the coarse hair under the shirt. She gently kissed his lips, then closed her eyes. So very tired. Emotionally. Physically. Succumbing to it all she finally fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Synthesis3

John stirred. Rolled onto his back. Opened his eyes as his leg protested the motion. His arm felt tight where the stitches were. He looked over at Moira. She was on her side, her back to him. Sound asleep. His gaze roamed over her back, hips, rear. He scooted closer. Gently lifted her shirt but she was lying on the bruise so he couldn't see it. He frowned. Kissed her cheek. "Moira," he whispered into her ear.

He slowly moved off the bed, muscles stiff. He yawned, stretched carefully. Arms out to his sides, over his head. He flexed his legs. Tested his weight on his injured leg. Grimaced as pain throbbed for a moment. He suppressed a groan, limped to his room, his bathroom. Cleaned up, emptied his bladder. Rinsed the dull taste of beer out of his mouth. Brushed his teeth for good measure. The last thing he needed was for Caldwell to smell liquor on his breath.

He combed his hair. Quietly changed into his normal BDUs. A black t-shirt, blue jacket, blue pants. Boots. He moved back to Moira's room. She hadn't moved. He smiled. Reassured she was finally sleeping. Secure. He grabbed a plaid blanket, draped it over her. Kissed her cheek again. Stared at her a moment. Thoughts flitting over their conversations, confessions. Emotions tangled. Love and jealousy. Worry and anger. He regretted what had spilled out of him, but trusted her. With a final look he left to report to Caldwell.

John entered the conference room. Cursed inwardly as Steven Caldwell was already waiting for him. Seated at the head of the table, hands folded upon it. The lights shone on his balding head. His expression was serious. Stern even. John closed the door, limped to take a seat further down the table. "Sir."

"How are you feeling, lieutenant colonel?"

"Better, sir." John waited. Moving his leg a little to find a more comfortable position for it. He flexed his arm slightly. Forced himself to not fidget, to not drum his fingers on the table.

"And how is Moira?"

John blinked, surprised at the question. "Recovering. But she's fine, otherwise, sir."

"Good. We were all worried about her." Before John could express his surprise or his gratitude Steven continued. "If you think I'm going to fault you for going after her, I'm not. Not at this juncture. You accomplished your mission. Ford is no longer a threat to this base or to its personnel. Nor is this alternate version of yourself." He shook his head. "Frankly I don't understand the half of this parallel universe theory, but Doctor McKay does."

"It's not a theory, sir. Not any more," John corrected quietly. Bracing himself. He knew what was coming.

"Yes. Apparently not any more." A pause. "There is, however, the matter of your men. This mission cost us dearly, as you well know, lieutenant colonel. A Jumper. Four marines. Two more from the ground assault."

"Two?" asked John.

"Yes. Andrews. His injuries were too severe. Doctor Beckett was unable to save him. And four wounded, but they will recover. Three teams, Sheppard. Three teams went in, and we lost six men plus a ship. I know you couldn't have foreseen Ford having a Wraith cruiser of all things, but still..."

John sighed. Tensing. "Yes, sir. I believed I had accounted for all contingencies, all possible outcomes. I was wrong. I certainly never expected Ford to have access to a Wraith cruiser, much less shoot down one of our own. I believed he only had ground forces, sir. Possibly a ship but nothing like a Wraith cruiser."

"Yes. And his ground forces?"

"Mutants. Well, most of them. Wraith and human experiments gone awry. He lost control of them. And there were those others, the mutated cavemen too. Without Ford whatever forces he has left will scatter. Those left alive, that is. I believe the, the colonel took the normal humans back with him to his reality. So they won't be a problem either."

"I see. The problem is you vastly underestimated the enemy. You let personal feelings play a part in this. No, not your feelings for your wife, but for Ford."

John frowned. "I got the job done, sir."

"Yes, lieutenant colonel, you did. But at what cost? We can't afford these kind of losses."

"Excuse me, sir, but are you saying I should have gone in with fewer men?"

"No, you should have gone in with better intel. Not so precipitously. Not injured as you were. I know there were extenuating circumstances, Sheppard, but you should have delegated your authority to the next in command and accompanied them as an adjunct, nothing more. Better decisions should have been made. The threat is eliminated, but what about the next one? Because we both know there will be a next one, and another after that. And we can't afford another disaster like this, can we?"

"No, sir," John agreed. Biting his back his own retorts, his own defense. Knowing Caldwell was right, however much he wanted to disagree.

"This falls on your shoulders, Sheppard. No one else's. I want you to consider that. And next time, when you face a similar scenario you will think twice before acting. Use your resources wisely, lieutenant colonel, because they are limited. Dismissed."

John blinked. Stood. "Yes, sir." He limped out of the room, trying to decide if Caldwell was going to demote him or leave him be.

* * *

Moira rolled. Reached. Empty blankets met her grasp. She woke, sat. "John? John!" She gasped, stared round, a blind panic assaulting her. She touched the plaid blanket that had fallen to her lap at her abrupt motion. She stared around the darkened room. Glanced at the clock. Swore seeing how much time had passed. She had been asleep for hours. "John!"

"Here, sweetheart." John entered her room. Limping he moved to the bed. "Are you hungry? I've got a sandwich in my room if you are."

Moira stared at him. He was clad only in a pair of checkered blue boxers. The bandages on his arm, his leg gleamed in the low lights. A bruise marred his hip. Another purpled his side. Cuts were on his arm. Her gaze roved up and down his body. Back to his handsome face as he stood. "John? Why didn't you wake me?"

"Scoot." He pulled back the blankets, slid into them. "I'm beat. Let's go to bed. Or in your case stay in bed. You needed to sleep, Moira." He smiled. "Lose the clothes. All of them. Even the socks, sweetheart."

"But, but the, the autopsy! The–"

"Carson can handle it on his own, or with his assistants. Besides, it's not like Ford is going anywhere, now is he?" He snorted at his grim humor.

She sighed, got off the bed. "Did you see Caldwell?"

"Yes."

"That...that can't have been easy," she noted. She yawned, moved across the room to the dresser. She pulled out a nightshirt. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." He sighed, frowning as she disappeared into the bathroom. He waited. Listening to the running water. The flush of the toilet. More water running. The soft rustle of clothing being removed.

She emerged, clad in a pale lilac nightshirt that fell to her bare knees. She moved to the bed. Slid in beside him. Sat, staring at nothing. Then reclined on her back, looking up at the ceiling. "You should talk about it, John."

"No. What is there to say, Moira? I fucked up. He knew it. I knew it. But at least I eliminated Ford, so that's something."

"John, you–" she objected, turning to him.

"No." He pulled the blankets from her. "I have to see." Before she could protest he pulled up the nightshirt. Tugging at it determinedly until she acquiesced and moved, wiggling so he could yank up the material. Eyes on her bare legs, on the skimpy lilac panties she wore. His gaze lingered there for a moment as a hunger assailed him. That triangle of darkness under the thin fabric enticing, inviting. His gaze moved onto the bare skin of her hips, waist. Her side.

"John," Moira said softly, noting his gaze. His prolonged stare. The quick motion of his tongue over his lips. She reacted, couldn't help it. His gaze serious, sexy. Desirous.

"Shit." He gently touched her side where the purplish bruise ran above her hip. A glaring mark on her pale skin. "Damn, Moira, I'm so sorry!"

"It's not your fault, John, I told you! I got in the way, I–"

"No." He leaned to her, kissed her gently. Scooting down on his side. He eyed the bruise again. Fingers gently moving around it. "Are you sure you're okay? Nothing is wrong? Internally?"

"No. It's just a bruise, John. Carson did a full scan. I'm fine. Stop fussing, will you?"

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart! Damn, I really clipped you, didn't I? Shit!"

"Stop apologizing, John! It was an accident. I shouldn't have gotten in the way! I...oh..."

He moved the nightshirt higher, higher. Slipped it up past her breasts. Baring them. He stared. Gently caressed, cupped. Rubbed the rosy nipples as they hardened under his touch. "So beautiful...so fucking beautiful..." he murmured. Gently he moved the two rings on the chain out of the way. Frowned, recalling the colonel's taunt. About the rings. About seeing them. No doubt seeing this as well.

"John?" she asked, voice soft, strangled with desire, worry. She touched his arm, moving.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered. Fondling. He slid down to kiss each one. Tongue swirling, sucking gently. Fingers tickling her side.

Moira gasped, moving. Reacting to him. She touched his hair, ran her fingers through it. Made soft, whimpering sounds as he gently sucked. Gently nibbled, pulling. Tasting. His fingers slid down to caress between her legs. "John...oh John...you...oh John..." Her voice caught in her throat, uncertain. Arching into him, unable to stop.

He lifted his head to kiss her mouth. To slide his tongue in to tease. He kissed across her cheek. Nibbled her earlobe. Licked behind it to make her squirm, whimper. He gently bit before he kissed down her throat. All the while caressing, caressing between her legs. Encouraging her thighs to part for him. To give him more and more access. Stroking along her cleft now.

"John, John," she breathed hotly, fingers tightening on his shoulder.

"Moira. My Moira, I long for you. I long to love you," he said huskily. Need growing. Demanding. Becoming hard against her hip, her thigh. Cock straining against his shorts. "I don't want to hurt you," he murmured. Caught her mouth with his own. A deep, searing kiss.

"John, John, it won't hurt me, it won't," she pleaded. Tears in her eyes as she tensed, tightened.

"Yes, it will, baby...let me figure out an angle."

Moira pulled him closer, not caring if he hurt her or not. Needing his weight on her, in her. Needing to lose herself under him. She ran her fingers along his back, kissing him. Hungry kisses. Demanding. Nibbled his lower lip, sucking, pulling. Tongue entwined with his. Arching so her breasts slid along his chest. The coarse, dark hair teasing her nipples. She circled his ear, gently bit until he moaned. His cock jerking against her thigh.

John slid down carefully. His mouth running to her breasts again. Making her arch, squirm as his fingers relentlessly probed, probed. Pulled now at the panties, tugging them down, down. He paused, lifting to view her waist. The bruise. He yanked the panties off her as her legs bent, aiding him. His brow furrowed as his fingers skimmed her mound. Saw the sudden nakedness, the lack of hair on top. He looked up at her. "Baby...what is this?" His fingers played along the skin. He fought back the urge to thrust inside of her.

"I...I..." she stammered. "Nothing...just...I had to, um...I had to...um..."

"Um?" He stared at her embarrassed expression. "Fuck. I see."

"No, no, no, nothing like, like, like no! Not that, not that not–"

"Hush!" He kissed along her waist. Circled the bruise carefully. Tasted her hips, her pelvis. Ran his mouth along the bare skin. He groaned as he nearly came in his shorts.

Moira gasped, whimpered and arched. Legs opening. The sensation of his mouth on her almost too much, too intense. Tears spotted her vision again. "John, John," she whispered, caught between a sob and a moan.

"Fuck," he muttered, shoving her thighs wide. Fingers stroking her folds. Her wetness flooded at his touch. Her body squirming. Helpless. Lifting. He breathed in the smell of her. Bit his lip a moment as his erection was becoming painful now. Balls so tight he thought he'd burst. He yanked off his shorts. Kissed along her mound again. Hands on her inner thighs.

"John, John, no, no don't go down, don't go–"

"Mine, Moira. This is mine and I will make you beg me to stop," he growled. Mouth moving in earnest now, delving deeply to find his target.

Moira cried out, unable to stop. Writhing as he sucked, nibbled, found the nub and ruthlessly teased, tormented. As his fingers stroked up and down, up and down her folds, bringing her hard. Fast. Moira's hands clutched at him, grabbing, clawing his bare skin as she arched, lifted. Tears turning to those of pleasure, overwhelmed by his possession, his persistence. "John!"

He grunted, tasting her, taking her. Making her his again. Erasing all traces of the colonel. Erasing every doubt, every lingering sensation, scent, thought. Her soft sounds were becoming louder, louder. Faster, escalating into a crescendo as she came, rocking wildly under him. He felt her throbbing, clenching. Freed her and slid into her at last. "Ah fuck," he groaned.

Moira clutched, grabbed, inarticulate as he thrust, thrust harder. Easing himself deeper, faster, but keeping his weight off her injured side. It was awkward, arousing. The angle slightly different but he was stroking every sensitive area. So hard, so long that Moira lost her breath as he repeatedly filled her. "John, John, John!" she cried.

"Moira! If this hurts you let me know!" he insisted, but arched into her. Thrusting her faster and faster. Sliding into that wet heat as she clenched on him, pulsing to his own rush to orgasm. The bed began to rock wildly under them. The headboard slamming, slamming the wall. He groaned loudly, ignoring the protests of his leg, his arm. Everything concentrated on his cock at the moment, the pleasure riding him, riding her. "Fuck! Fuck that is so sweet! Sweet and mine! Mine, damn it! That fucking sweetness is all mine!" he growled. Shuddered as his body strained. Jerking inside her as he came.

"John, oh John! Oh God!" she whimpered, feeling every inch of him. The pleasure blooming into yet another orgasm. She winced as he fell upon her with an elongated groan.

Quickly he shifted his weight off to her other side. "Just a sec, a sec," he rasped against her breasts. Shivers of delight coursing along him now. Release. His breath coming hard, fast.

Moira relaxed, trying to catch her own rapid breaths. "Oh John, John...you...oh John..." She kissed him. Drew his face up to her as he slid out of her. Kissed his lips, his cheeks until he moved. Rolled onto his back.

"Fuck. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No. You could never hurt me, John."

"Did he? Hurt you, I mean? Did he hurt you when he fucked you?"

Moira tensed. Bit her lower lip. Knew he was waiting for an answer. She felt a chill along her skin. The air cold on her now that he was no longer intimately joined with her. "No."

John said nothing. Had wondered if she would lie to him. Evade the question. He felt the tension through his body, chasing the pleasure away. "Part of the deal, was it?"

His voice was stern. Husky. It sent a shiver through Moira. Made her lower body tighten. She licked her lips. Knew he was waiting again. "Yes. To save you."

"I see. To save me. You fucked him to save me." His voice was cold, dispassionate. But the anger rode under it like a dark wave. He turned on his side to look at her.

Moira was staring at the ceiling. Face flushed, hair a wild mess. "Yes." She kept her voice dull, a monotone. Heart hammering in her chest. Another shiver coursed along her skin. The cold air raising goose bumps on her flesh. Hardening her nipples. Cooling the heat between them.

John was silent. Gaze raking over her. Pausing on the bruise. Then on her crotch. His cock stirred again. Not satisfied. Not yet. "Get up."

She met his gaze, startled. Afraid he was throwing her out of the bed, out of the room. Out of his life. "What?" she squeaked.

He smiled. "I said get up. Onto your knees, baby. I'm going to fuck that pert little ass of yours now. That's mine too."

"Oh. I...." She moved to her knees on the bed. Touched the headboard, nervous. Knew he wouldn't hurt her but still she wondered about his mood. "John...I...look, it–"

"I don't want to hear it, Moira. I only want to hear you come." He moved behind her. Flung her hair over her shoulders to bare her back. He touched her hips, pulling her out to him. Ran his hand up between her legs. Slid his hands up to cup her breasts. To fondle and tease. He ran his mouth along her throat, down her back. Freed her breasts and smacked her rear.

"Ow! John, what the–"

"This," he squeezed her rear, making her squirm, "is mine. Got it, baby. This pert little ass is mine. Every fucking inch of you is mine. Mine! Not another version of me, but mine! Only mine! After tonight you won't forget that, will you?"

"John? John, I–" she gasped as he thrust into her, yanking her into a lean so she could take the hard length of him. He shoved his hips up, into her. Hands clasping her breasts again, kneading the nipples until she whimpered in protest. "John, John..."

"A little rough, baby," he informed. Slid his hands down to play along her mound. He began a careful rhythm. His leg protesting with every thrust but he didn't care. Only caring to assert his claim on her. To possess her repeatedly.

Moira squirmed. Grabbed the headboard as he was shoving, shoving into her now. Shoving her up even as one hand yanked her back into a lean. Even as the other deftly slid into the top of her cleft, finding the spot to make her whimper, moan. Sob as he was bringing her doubly now. She arched, head thrown back as John was in total control. Giving her wave after wave of growing pleasure. His need escalating to move faster, harder, but never crossing the line from pleasure to pain. Until his motions became frenzied. Nearly knocking them off the bed. Nearly shoving her headfirst into the wall. "John! John!" she cried, but his groaning, grunting overrode her strained voice. "John!" She cried out as the climax shook her, flooded her.

"Fuck, oh fuck!" he moaned, jerking wildly now as the release trapped him in her. Rode him hard, fast as she came around him now, urging him to follow.

"John! Strawberries!" she gasped, the safe word escaping her lips.

He instantly stopped, hearing it. Slid out of her. "Moira? Are you–"

She elbowed him, scrambled off the bed. "Damn it, John! What was that? Did you have to fuck it out of me, then?"

He moved off the bed, to her in a quick, swift motion. Startled she backed up, hit the wall. He caught her arms, pinned her there. "Yeah. I did, baby. Had to fuck him out of you so only I remain. Got it?"

"You son of a bitch! You–"

"Shut up." He kissed her. Mouth devouring hers. Body pressing to hers. "Ow!" He drew back, glared. "What the fuck?"

She smiled, having bitten his tongue. "Well, well, I thought you wanted it rough, sweetie? Was that too rough for you, John?"

He licked his lips. Touched his tongue. "Damn, Moira...I'm glad that wasn't my cock."

"Oh? Or do you wish it was, sweetie? Happy now?"


	4. Chapter 4

Synthesis4

John felt the cold air on his naked body. Chilling the sweat, the other fluids on him. He scowled at Moira who was glaring at him. Naked body pressed against the wall as he held her there. "Fuck! That really hurt, baby," he pouted. "You may have impaired my secondary ordnance."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, sweetie! I didn't bite you that hard. Did I? John?" Suddenly worried she touched his arm as he freed her. She touched his lips. "Did I? Oh shit...are you bleeding? John, John, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to–"

He laughed, pulled her into a lengthy kiss. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth. His hands slid down to grab her rear, to squeeze. Moira squealed, squirming as he shoved her cleft along his cock again. He freed her mouth, smiled. "Ah baby...you're right. I wish that had been my cock."

"John! You–"

"Shut up, Moira." He kissed her, moving her gently against the wall. Slid his mouth along her skin. Sending shivers not of cold but of desire as he mouthed her breasts again. Sucking. Teasing. "I'm going to fuck those socks off you," he teased.

Moira's fingers slid along his shoulders. "I'd like to see you try, flyboy," she taunted. Stared as she felt him getting hard at her dare. "John, again? You–"

"I can't get enough of it, baby." He grabbed her wrists, held them up over her head. Smiled. "Like this now, okay? I'm going to bounce that pert little ass on the wall. Oh, and remember, Moira. John Sheppard. John Sheppard," he stressed the last name.

"Hilarious, John! You are supposed to be resting not oh John, oh John!" she moaned as he slid into her again. She kissed him. Kept kissing him as he thrust slowly, gently now. Not quite as hard as earlier but hard enough to need a release. To give them another rush of pleasure. Moira freed her wrists to slide her hands along his sides, his back. She grabbed his clenching rear and squeezed, making him groan, start in surprise. Coming inside her as she clenched, cried out as she followed him.

John sighed happily. Sated. He slid out of her. Led her to the bed. All but collapsed into it. Moaned as his leg burned, his arm was sore. His side ached. "On top."

Moira got in next to him. Slid carefully onto him. Propped herself up on one elbow to meet his gaze. "John...we..."

"That was some serious fucking, baby. So sweet."

"You sound so proud, sweetie," she teased, shaking her head. "What the hell is wrong with us?"

He smiled. Touched her rosy cheek. "Nothing, baby. We had some...issues to work out, and we did. In our own unique way. Our own pleasurable, exuberant way."

"But, but...sweetie, I bit your tongue!"

He laughed at her consternation. "Yeah, you did, baby. And my ear. Fuck that turns me on. Seriously, Moira, we're fine. We're fine now. We'd never hurt each other. It's all right."

"Is it?" she wondered. Worrying. "I never...I never... I mean...I don't want to hurt you, John!"

"You won't, baby. It's all right. I know just how far to push, don't I? You will too."

"Okay, I guess." Doubtful she snuggled on him. His arms encircled her. "John...we're going to be so sore tomorrow." She giggled against his chest. "Sore from our injuries. From all the wild sex. From the constant sex."

"Yeah. Don't care, baby. We needed it. All of it," he retorted, relaxing under her.

"John, will we have a few days together?"

"Yes. While we heal. Take our time healing, if you get my meaning. Lots of healing. Lots of–"

"Got it, colonel." She closed her eyes. "John...we...I mean...I...I–"

"No. No more post-coital. It's done. Over. We're past all of it now, baby. Go to sleep." He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her on him. The sex. The love. "And it's not O'Meara. Sheppard. Moira Sheppard. I'm serious, sweetheart. Moira Sheppard."

"Okay, John Sheppard. Go to sleep, would you?"

He chuckled. "As ordered, baby."

* * *

Morning sunlight streamed into the room. Into John's eyes as he woke, blinked. He found himself sprawled in the bed. Moira sound asleep on top of him. He kissed her. Gently scooted out from under her. He slipped out of the bed, snatching his boxers out of the sheets. Snatched her panties. Smirked. Carried both to his room.

Moira woke. Rolled, finding herself alone in the bed. "John?" She pulled on her nightshirt. Reached around in the sheets. Frowned. Slipped out of bed. "John?" She crossed the threshold to his room.

"Here, Moira!" he called from the bathroom.

Moira put her hands on her hips as he emerged, freshly showered and shaved. Clad in a white button-down shirt and brown slacks. Shoes. He smiled at her. She frowned, even as her gaze wandered enjoyably over him. "John Sheppard, where are my panties?"

He laughed. Gave her a dazzling smile. "You really want to know, Moira? Don't move. I'll go grab us some breakfast. And don't change either."

She smiled. "Okay, John. I am hungry."

"Good. Work up an appetite, did you? Back in ten." He moved to her, kissed her. "No undies," he teased into her ear. Left limping.

Moira shook her head, amused. Enamored. Relaxed. Relieved that everything was out in the open. That they had seemingly moved past it now. That the weight of guilt and sorrow was dissipated. No longer a burden on her. She moved to her room. Showered. Pulled on a long-sleeved purple shirt with matching underwear. A pair of jeans. She sat at the table, waiting. Fingered the data pad and the flash drive.

* * *

"Colonel, hold up!"

John swore. Slowed as he balanced a tray loaded with food. "Yes?"

Carson smiled, catching up to him. Eyed the contents of the tray. "Breakfast in bed, is it? That's very romantic of you."

"No. It's practical, is all," John deflected. "And it's breakfast at a table. What do you want, Carson? I'm on a tight schedule here."

Carson laughed, strolled next to him. "I bet you are, colonel. I need to see you in the infirmary. I want to check those stitches. And your leg as well. It can wait until after breakfast."

"Okay." He glanced at the doctor who was still walking with him. "Is there something else?"

"Och, no. I thought I'd pop in on Moira and see how she's doing. That food is for her too, right?"

"Yes. Like I said, tight schedule. You don't need her help with the, the autopsy, do you? I think it would be better if you left her out of it."

"True. Is she feeling better?"

"Yes. And I'd like her to stay that way, so can you continue without her help?"

"Aye, of course. I'll just share my findings with her."

"Okay. You can go away now," John said, standing at the door. Waiting.

Carson laughed. "A wee bit protective, are we, colonel? Fine. I'll see her later then. And you had better report to me within the hour."

John sighed. Entered her room and carried the tray to the table. "Moira?"

"Here, John." She moved to him, eyed the food. "Pancakes?"

John's gaze roved over her clothes. The purple shirt's V-neck dipped slightly, giving him a glimpse of the swells of her breasts. The jeans hugged her rear as she turned away to push the data pad out of the way. She sat at the table, flung her hair behind her shoulders. "John?"

He sat next to her. Grabbed his plate of waffles. "Syrup?" he offered. "Or this?"

She snorted. "Caramel? Hilarious, John. Syrup, please."

"Oh." He sighed. "Maybe later, then." He poured the syrup on her pancakes, on his waffles.

"Thank you, sweetie. Such a gentleman."

"I'm always a gentleman, baby." He paused as she took a bite. "Even when my cock isn't deep, deep inside you."

Moira nearly choked on her food. Swallowed, coughed. "John!" She drank some orange juice as he laughed.

"What? Isn't that true, sweetheart?"

"No! Not always. Now shut up and eat!"

"Oh. Right. You like to watch me eat, don't you?" he teased. Licked his lips slowly.

"Stop it, John!" She ate some more as he began to eat with big bites.

He smiled. Loving the effect he had on her. That she had on him. The attraction vibrant. Sensual. Rippling between them even after the night of repeated sex. "Carson wants to see me. Check my arm and my leg. Will you wait here for me?"

"No. I should be helping him with–"

"No. He said he doesn't need you. Not until after he's done. Besides, you and I need to work on that flash drive, right? Our eyes only, you said. How does your side feel?"

"A little sore, but otherwise fine. What about you?"

"Me? I've never felt better, Moira. No, that's not true. I've only felt better when my cock is deep, deep inside you." He smiled.

She sighed, threw a napkin at him. "Go!"

He laughed. Stood. Moved to stand behind her. He leaned down to kiss her generously. "Hmm...sticky," he intoned, voice low. Suggestive. A sexy whisper in her ear. "I like sticky. Sweet and sticky, wasn't it, baby?"

She laughed, playfully elbowed his chest. "Shut up, John! It's maple syrup!"

He laughed. "It is? Oh...yeah...you don't taste like that."

"John! Go!"she laughed at his provocative words. His mischievous expression.

"What? It's true, baby. Oh, do I taste like that? Do you want to see if–" he made to unzip his pants.

"John Sheppard!" she laughed, pushing him again. "Keep it in your pants, would you?"

"Must I? Okay, for now. You keep that pert little ass in here, baby. Back in ten."

"As ordered, sweetie. Now go."

"Going," he called over his shoulder, leaving the room.

John limped into the infirmary, paused. Carson pointed to a bed while talking to a nurse. John sighed, moved to it. Sat on it, swinging his legs up with a groan. Impatiently he drummed his fingers on the bed. Wanting to return to Moira. To their teasing flirtations. To the promise of foreplay, passion, sex.

Carson finished, stepped to him. "All right, colonel, let's have a look, shall we?"

"Must we?" John countered. "Are you sure that bruise on Moira's side isn't serious?"

"Yes. It's just a bruise. Nothing more, thank goodness. She could have suffered a serious injury. Whoever did it must have pulled back at the last possible second, or she somehow swerved out of the way in time."

"So she didn't say how it happened?" John asked, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the bandage on his arm.

"No. Only that she got in the middle of a fight and it was her own fault."

"Ow!" John winced at the probing as Carson undid the bandage. Make annoyed sounds seeing the stitches were uneven. John was thinking of Moira. How she was still protecting him. Not blaming him although he blamed himself. Felt terrible about the accident.

"Hold still! What the hell have you been doing, John? Why do I even bother? You might actually heal for once if you would just take it easy and avoid all strenuous activity! I shall have to get Moira on your case about it. You might listen to her."

John smiled. "I am resting. And yes, she is on my case. As always. On my...case."

"And you love every minute of it, don't you?" Carson teased. Sighed. "Let's see how the leg is, then. At least there are no stitches there for you to unravel." Carson examined the wound, unwrapping it. "At least this is healing...but you're still having trouble walking?"

"Some," John admitted. "It's sore and stiff."

"Then keep off it, you silly man! Oh!" Carson glanced round, smiled. "When I found the keycard in your pants I also found this." He pulled a skimpy pair of panties from his coat. "Yours, I take it?"

John smirked, snatched them. Shoved them into his pocket. Felt a blush warm his face. "No! Well, yes, I mean...she...I can explain. Moira. She..I...um..that is..."

Carson laughed "I assumed they were Moira's."

"Of course they are Moira's! I...um...there is a good reason I have them...a damn good reason."

"Take your time, John, I can't wait to hear this. John, are you blushing?"

"No! I am not!" he snapped, but sheepishly shrugged. Grinned. "It's not what it looks like! Okay, it is what it looks like, but it's not–"

"Don't." Carson held up a hand. "Please. I don't want to know. It looks like I'll be able to remove those stitches in a day or so, providing you don't take them out yourself. Which I would advise against, by the way."

"Good. No more Frankenstein's monster's arm," John quipped.

"Aye, colonel. Now get out of my medical bay, would you? And mind you return that stolen property." He laughed at John's scowl. Shook his head, amused.

John sobered. Stood. "What have you discovered about Ford?" he asked, glancing back towards the morgue where the body was.

Carson frowned. "Quite a bit, actually, as far as tissue regeneration goes. The Wraith cells not only metastasises the regenerative properties to his arm but also to his torso, in effect creating a symbiosis of Wraith and human genetic material but in a new combination that resulted in a fusion of conflicting genomes."

John stared. Blinked. "Sorry I asked."

Carson shrugged. "Well, you did, colonel. I expect Moira will be more interested than you are. At any rate we are still studying the cells and the way the tissues have bonded, with the enzyme as a cohesive, if you will, to generate a potentially new creation, a new species that–"

"Okay, okay, never mind!" John started to limp out of the infirmary. "Just boil it down to simple words and facts, doctor."

"I'll give you the ABC version, then, colonel," Carson called after him.

"Thank you!"


	5. Chapter 5

Synthesis5

John entered his room. Crossed the threshold to Moira's. Smiled. He neared quietly, watched in sensual fascination as she stared hard at the blank data screen. The blinking cursor taunting. She nibbled her lower lip in concentration. In frustration as she typed in a word. Was denied. John neared on cat-like feet. Waited. Watched her chew her lower lip. Waited. Waited. Until that soft, small noise sounded in her throat.

Moira typed in another word. Was denied. "Damn it, colonel!" she fumed quietly. Sat back from the screen. Stared as a pair of her panties hit the keyboard. Then another. She grabbed them, whirled in the chair. "John!"

He laughed, enjoying her indignation. "Just cleaning out my pockets, baby. Most guys find spare change. But me, I find spare panties."

"Pervert," she quipped.

He laughed. Touched the back of the chair as she turned away from him. He leaned close. "Well, well, either you have on a very, very sexy bra or the girls are bouncing up to see me."

"Girls? What?" She looked at him. He was staring down at her chest. A lewd, sensual warmth in his brilliant green eyes.

"John! Behave! I need your help to–"

He ran his hand along her side, caressed a breast. "Oh baby, I have to see!"

She swatted his hand. "Later! I need your help to–"

"Show me now, baby, please. I can't think of anything else," he wooed. He turned her chair towards him. He moved to his knees in front of her, ignoring the protesting ache of his injured leg. He slid up the shirt, pausing to gently, so gently touch the bruise.

"It's fine, John, just a little sore," she said before he could ask.

"I'm sorry, so sorry, sweetheart! I would never hurt you, never! God, I can't believe I–"

"John! It wasn't your fault! It was an accident! Now stop it!" She smiled. "Weren't you going to inspect my ordnance, colonel?"

"Oh...yeah..." His hand slid between her legs.

"Not that ordnance, sweetie!" She tapped his shoulder.

He met her gaze, smirked. "Oh. Right. The girls." At her exasperation he smiled. Lifted the shirt higher.

"I guess that's better than tits," she wryly remarked.

He laughed. Lifted the shirt higher. Smiled. "Ah." He eyed the purple bra. It was satiny, pushing her breasts up and together. A tiny pink heart was sewn to the center of it. "Looks like you're about to fall out of there, baby. Damn. I trust the panties match?"

"At the moment, sweetie, until you steal them," she fondly noted.

He grinned. "Requisition them," he corrected. He ran his fingers over the swells of her breasts, moving the two rings on the chain out of the way. Ran a finger between them. "I want to lick you. Right here. Right here." He moved closer, parting her thighs to gain his objective. He leaned close and ran his tongue down between her breasts. Slowly. Ran it over the swells, kissing the bare flesh.

Moira softly, softly moaned. "John," she breathed, reacting. She ran her fingers in his hair. Along his jaw. Gently pushed him back from her. "We can't. We need to open this–"

"I couldn't agree more, baby," he jested. "First this." He touched the bra.

"John! You–" But he pulled her shirt higher, higher, up her arms as she lifted them. Over her head. He put it on the table, slid his hands over the bra. Fondling, pushing her breasts together. He kissed the bulging swells.

"Such beautiful, beautiful tits," he wooed, pulling down one cup to expose her breast. He kissed, teased the rosy nipple as he moved to his knees again.

Moira softly, softly whimpered, arching a little. Losing herself in the erotic sensations of his tongue on the sensitive skin. The pull of his mouth. She ran her hands down his chest to his crotch, his thigh. Caressing, finding his growing arousal. Grasping his erection. "Oh John, no, no, we have to open the flash drive."

"Whatever you want to call it, baby," he agreed.

She laughed. "I'm serious, sweetie! We need to review this flash drive and everything on–"

"We will, baby, after this. Oh yes, yes, Moira, just like that...oh fuck," he growled as her fingers stroked up and down, up and down. But her hand stopped. Her other hand touched his shoulder, grasping.

"John...John..." She tried to resist, to exert control over the growing arousal in her body. "We can't. We have to do this first. There could be anything on these files. Important things." Her voice was breathless, betraying her desire.

He freed her breast to slowly look up at her. Moira stared, mesmerized by how utterly handsome he was. Dark brown hair mussed by her loving fingers. Strong jaw line shadowed by the barest hint of stubble. Full lips a perfect Cupid's bow, inviting her mouth. Long lashes sweeping along his brilliant green eyes. A vivid green, full of passion, of desire. Smouldering with sensual demands that made her melt, made her wet, made her body tighten with desire and need.

He smiled slowly, knowing by her avid gaze that he had her. He licked his lips. A lazy motion of his tongue. "If that's what you want, baby. What you really want." He licked his lips again. The tone of his voice lowering into a husky, male timber that slithered over her skin. "Instead of me." His tongue darted teasingly, leaving his lower lip wet. He sat back on the floor, legs bending under him.

Moira stared, fixated. Unable to help herself. A flood of desire inundated her, an erotic rush as her gaze devoured him. The white woven shirt unbuttoned at his throat to give her a teasing view of his chest, the dark chest hair peeking out. The contours of his torso and his biceps visible under the thin fabric. His lean waist, hips. The obvious bulge at his crotch just waiting for her nimble fingers to take, to stroke, to tease. She made a small sound in her throat. Moved out of the chair to straddle him. She ran her hand up his chest. "Damn it, John, that's not fair! Not at all!" she accused breathlessly. Kissed him. A long, searing kiss.

John responded, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Taking. Possessing. Hands sliding up her back to play in her loose hair. Then to unhook the bra, pull it down. Remove it. Moira was still kissing him, murmuring as she nibbled his lower lip, sucking at it. Her tongue swirling with his now as she shifted on his lap. He groaned, aroused, so aroused. He grabbed her rear, squeezed. Shoved her onto his erection. She gyrated a little, moved to circle his ear. To nibble. To kiss down his throat. As her hands flew to unbutton his shirt. To slide inside the material to feel his bare chest. To tangle in his chest hair.

"Ah Moira, Moira, is today tease John's cock day?" he teased against her skin. Moving his mouth to her bare breasts. "Or is it devour Moira's beautiful tits day? I'm not sure which it is."

"Don't care,"she breathed hotly into his ear. Arching a little as his tongue plied her nipples. His hand sliding between her legs. She kissed his jaw, throat, circled his ear again. Whispered into his ear, "Do you know how I like your ordnance, Colonel Sheppard? So big, so long, so fucking long and so, so hard...so deep inside me." She reached one hand down to find his cock. To squeeze.

He groaned in delight, in need. Mouth moving to her other breast. Hands grabbing her rear to move her in a circle on his lap. On his straining erection. "Fuck me, baby, fuck me hard," he urged.

"Oh John, John," she moaned. She scooted. Unzipped his pants and slid her hand in as his cock sprang to her, only hampered by his shorts now. A knock at the door made Moira freeze. Her mouth at his ear. One hand on his bare chest. The other still clutching his very erect cock. "John," she whispered.

"Ignore it," he said around the hard nipple in his mouth. He groaned softly.

"John? It's Elizabeth. I need a word."

Moira scrambled off him, stood. Hastily pulled on her shirt as her bra fell to the floor. "We have to–"

"Go. Go answer the door," he grumbled. Awkwardly maneuvered himself into the chair. Frustrated. Irritated. He zipped up his pants after some adjustment.

"Me? She wants to see you, not me."

"I can't see her with a hard-on, now can I?" he snapped. Voice strained.

She laughed. "That's true. She touched his shoulder. "You better stand down, sweetie, before that tent in your pants becomes a hazard to the table."

"Moira! It's not funny!"

She laughed. "At ease, soldier. And yes, it is. I'll go let her in."

"Moira! No!"

She laughed at his consternation, his scowl. She hastened through her room to his. Smoothing down her shirt. Very conscious of not having on a bra. Very conscious of the material clinging over every curve and swell. Of her still hard nipples poking the fabric. Of their wetness from John's mouth. Of the wet arousal between her legs. She sighed, opened the door. "Doctor Weir, please. John and I were just going over the mission specs. John. John!" she called.

After a few moments John appeared. His shirt was fastened except for the first two buttons. He held an oversized notebook casually in front of him, blocking the view of his waist and his crotch. He walked with an exaggerated limp. Met Moira's gaze, eyes narrowing in warning.

Moira grinned. A laugh escaped her. "You know, um, John, one of those mini memo pads would have sufficed," she teased with a smirk.

He glowered at her amusement, said nothing until he passed her. Voiced in a low, husky tone near her ear, "I need a fucking billboard, baby." He passed her as she snorted, trying not to laugh. He forced aside his own amusement. Swallowed his own laughter. Schooled his expression. "Elizabeth. Moira and I were just going over the mission specs."

"So she said." Elizabeth eyed him. Glanced past him to see Moira standing near the table, fussing with a bunch of roses. Elizabeth eyed him again. Knowing she had interrupted something. Something far more interesting than mission specs. "I need to see you, John. In my office, please."

"Oh? Oh...okay. Um...let me finish up here first, though. Say in an hour?"

Moira snorted. "Really, John? Really? An hour? I think we'll be finished up here in ten minutes...maybe five...hmm...maybe two."

"Make it two hours," John said tersely, annoyed but enjoying the teasing. "Is that all right? I'd go with you now, but Moira..." He sighed heavily, shook his head. "Moira is a real stickler for all the details. Every little detail, over and over, until it's squeezed and sucked dry." He heard a slight clink as if she had dropped something. Smiled.

Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow. "I see. That would be fine, John. Thank you."

John held in his laughter as he walked Elizabeth to the door. As she left. As he closed the door. As he made his way over to Moira who was laughing into her hand. "You!" He smacked her rear.

"John! No! You–" Moira burst into laughter as he caught her, spun her round. He dropped the notebook and grabbed a chair. Sat. Hauled her over his knees. "John, John!" she squealed as he proceeded to spank her rear.

John laughed as she squirmed. "Keep still, baby! You've been very naughty and you will take your punishment! Shit! I should rip these pants off you and spank that pert little ass blue!"

"John! John, cut it out!" Moira was laughing, squirming. She squealed as he grabbed, squeezed.

"Finest pert little ass in the galaxy! And I'm going to spank it blue!" He freed her.

Moira stood, backing away from him. "No you're not, sweetie!"

He grinned. "The fuck I'm not!" He moved to her, steps nimble, quick. Pushed her against the wall and kissed her passionately. Shoving his body into hers. "Take care of my ordnance!"

She laughed. "As ordered, colonel." She pushed, turned them so he was against the wall. She moved to her knees in front of him. Undid his pants. Unzipped. Yanked them down. "Aww..sweetie...so–"

"No! Now boxer comments or I swear to God I'll take every pair of panties that you own!" he threatened harshly.

She smirked. Bit back her teasing comment at his red checkered shorts with tiny planes on them. She stroked, stroked the projecting hardness. Suddenly ran her mouth along his bare thigh.

John groaned, shifting. Staring at her. She moved closer. Lifted his shirt to run kisses along his waist. Slowly pulled down his shorts to kiss his hip, his pelvis. She paused, fingers playing on the silky fabric. Still encasing him. "Hmm...Colonel Sheppard...let's just test the strength and range of this so-called bazooka, shall we?" Her voice was soft, sultry. He felt a shiver of anticipation run down his back. His rear clenched, hips thrusting in readiness. "Fuck," he muttered. Touched her shoulders.

Moira tilted her head. "Hmm...it's so big, so long...but don't you worry, sweetie, I'll make it fit somehow," she teased. Fingers sliding to stroke between his legs. She ran her mouth against the silky material. Kissing the hard length of him. Then took him into her mouth.

John groaned, tensing, staring. His fingers tangling her hair as she eased him in. Then paused. Caught him gently with her teeth, pressing. Then scraped her teeth along the length of him as she freed him from her mouth. The silky material melting in her mouth. John groaned, grunted. He could feel her teeth through the thin fabric. The moist heat, the snug fit as she closed over him. He shuddered, fingers tightening in her hair. Watching himself emerge from her mouth inch by inch.

Moira paused at the head of his cock and pressed harder, sucked. She heard his elongated moan, the strain. Felt him jerk wildly in her mouth. Coming with a sudden spurt. She freed him. Sat back on her knees, scooting a little back from him. Slowly her gaze raked up him as he freed her hair. "Was that tight enough for you, sweetie?"

John couldn't speak for a moment. About to come in his shorts. Cock so engorged he thought he'd explode. He swallowed. Moved to grab her arms, haul her to her feet. "Yes," he rasped, "But not wet enough." He kissed her but she shoved him into the wall. Laughed.

She stepped away from him. Turned back and smiled. Giving him a coy look over her shoulder as she wiggled her hips provocatively. "Well? We have two hours, sweetie. Let's see exactly what you can do with that bazooka of yours."


	6. Chapter 6

Synthesis6

Elizabeth glanced at the clock. Glanced at her watch. At the corner of her computer where the time ticked away second by second. All three matched. Telling her that the allotted two hours was over in ten minutes. She frowned. Sighed. Brushed a curling strand of her dark hair behind her ear. She wondered if John would make an appearance as she had requested. If he would bother to make an appearance at all. She shook her head.

Her fingers moved to her earpiece but she paused. Wondered if he even had it on. Or near him. She debated paging him over the public comm unit. Smirked when she considered his reaction. It was obvious she had interrupted some serious foreplay when she had knocked on his door. Moira's flushed face, messy hair. Bra-less shirt. Hard, wet nipples poking the fabric. Wet from John's mouth. She could imagine that those perfect, full lips sucking Moira's breasts.

Elizabeth shifted in her chair. Startled by her sudden reactions, thoughts. Embarrassed. She dismissed all images of John. Although he had hidden his frustration well, nearly as well as he had hidden his physical reactions behind the large notebook. But she had seen the smouldering intensity in his eyes when he had glanced at Moira.

She had no doubt that the two of them has resumed their interrupted sexual activity. Amusement turned to exasperation. Annoyance. She pressed the button on the comm unit. "Colonel Sheppard, report to my office immediately!"

* * *

The stern voice broke out of the comm unit on the wall. Interrupting the musical moans and grunts emanating from under the blankets. The rising crescendo continued, unabated until it reached a fever pitch, until both voices mingled in orgasmic release. The sounds softened, quieted.

John slid up. His head popped out of the blankets as he shifted, slid out of Moira. He turned his head to view the clock after a glare at the comm unit. "Fuck." He scowled. Then smiled. Moira was moving under him. She ran kisses down his chest. Fingers stroking his sides as her teeth found a nipple. John groaned.

He scooted back under the blankets, flinging them over their heads. "Ten minutes! Why the hell is she calling me now? We have ten fucking minutes!" he groused. Kissed her lips as he caught a breast, caressed gently.

Moira smiled. Touched his cheek, his jaw. "John...oh John...what can you possibly do in ten?" she teased, her voice a soft, sensual purr as she moved under him.

He smiled.

* * *

"Am I interrupting?" Carson hesitated on the threshold to the office. Data pad in one hand.

Elizabeth freed the pencil from her mouth, unaware she had been gnawing on it. "No. Please, Carson, come in. I'm just waiting for John."

"Oh. I've finished the autopsy on poor Lieutenant Ford and I have the preliminary findings. Nothing that we didn't expect. Still I'd like to go over the Wraith biological cellular distribution with Moira first before I present my full report," Carson informed, taking a chair in front of the desk. He glanced down at the pencil, saw the tooth marks.

"Good luck with that," Elizabeth mocked. Shrugged at Carson's quizzical expression. "Carson...what the hell is wrong with them?"

"Wrong?"

"Yes!"

"With whom? With Moira and John?" the doctor guessed, puzzled at her mood. Her irritated tone. She appeared tense.

"Yes!"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Nothing? They, they are, are..." she spluttered.

"In love with each other?"

"Obsessed with each other!" she flared.

"Passionate. That's all," Carson corrected. "There's nothing wrong with them, Elizabeth. Why would you even suggest such a thing? They did just get married after all, and have been through a very difficult, upsetting mission."

"Don't make excuses for them! Why, you're as bad as they are! As he is. You released him to go on that mission in the first place, Carson! And stupidly I allowed him to go! I thought he would have exercised more sense than that, but I was wrong! And to go after Moira alone? What the hell was he thinking?"

Carson sat back, surprised at the vehemence of her voice, her words. Normally she was more in control of her emotions. Reactions. "I'm sorry about that, but I couldn't have stopped him even if I tried. Nor could you. What did you expect, Elizabeth? It was his wife out there in harm's way. His wife."

"That doesn't matter. I mean of course it matters," she temporized to his startled blue gaze, "but he can't let personal feelings affect his decisions. Not on missions. Not out here. I intend to lay down the law once he gets here, if he gets here."

"That's probably not a very good idea, Elizabeth. Why don't you calm down a wee bit and then talk to him?"

"I'm perfectly calm, Carson. When your report is finalized let me know."

Carson recognized the tones of dismissal. He stood. "Very well. Just tread lightly here, Elizabeth, please. This is new territory for all of us. Especially John. And you. And Moira. Tread lightly."

* * *

Moira scrambled. Trying to catch her breath. Slipping, sliding out from under John. She scooted out from under the blankets, on her stomach. Glanced over at the clock. "Five. John, did you hear me? Five!" She moaned as his slid along her. Kissing up her back to her shoulder. His body pressing onto her.

"Five? Are you sure, baby? Because I've counted only four so far...four fucking sweet orgasms."

"Shut up! Five minutes!" She elbowed him. He laughed, rolled onto his back. Breathing deeply of the warm air. The sex heavy between them, on them. "John! Move that fine, fine ass of yours, will you?"

John sighed. Sat. "I already did, baby, repeatedly. Five? Shit, why didn't you tell me?" he snapped, scrambling out of the bed. He grabbed his scattered clothing on the way to the bathroom.

Moira laughed. " I did, sweetie." She slid out of the blankets, hastily pulled on a clean pair of underwear, a bra, her clothing as she heard the toilet flush. Water running. She entered the bathroom, smiled. John was standing at the sink, zipping his pants. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Hey, flyboy." She hugged him from behind. Pressing against his broad shoulders, strong back. She freed him as he smiled.

"Ah, baby...do I look like I just had exuberant sex? Twice?"

"Yes."

He laughed. "Good! That's the look I was going for."

She smiled. Ran her hand down his back to his rear. She squeezed. "Such a fine, fine six you have here, colonel. Even in those cute boxers."

"Don't make fun of my undies, baby. And stop sexually harassing me."

She laughed. "Shut up! You love it!" Considered. "John," she said hotly, "what gives you pleasure? I mean, what do you like? That I haven't done yet, I mean. Besides going down, I mean." She ran her hand between his legs, groping. "Does it involve the boys?"

"Whoa, whoa, baby, that's sensitive equipment. Classified."

"I'm sure I have security clearance, sweetie. Seriously, John, you give me such, such pleasure! Such astounding sexual pleasure in so many ways, which in turn pleasures you, I know. But there must be some other turn-ons you haven't told me about yet. And what about the biting, John? This concerns me. The escalation of that, from gentle nibbling to more actual biting."

"Are you trying to give me another hard-on, Moira? Geez!" He batted her hands away from him. "Cut it out, would you? I've got to see Weir in five."

"Sorry, John." She squeezed his rear again. Slid her hand between his legs, fondling his balls, his cock. "The boys? If I do this does that give you a–"

"Moira!" He turned and pulled her roughly into his arms. Kissed her. Gently pushed her back from him. "Cut it out, now! I don't have time for foreplay, damn it. I have to see Weir in five."

"Okay, John...wow, it's not like talking about what turns you on is going to make you come in your pants, is it? And the biting...you actually want me to bite your–"

"Moira!" He covered her mouth with his hand. Amusement sparkling in his green eyes. "That delicious mouth of yours, baby, will make me hard if nothing else will. The things you say!"

She moved his hand away. Kissed it. Playfully sucked on a finger before he pulled free of her. "Sorry, sweetie. Maybe it's the enzyme, I don't know, but that certainly does not explain your erotic, insatiable behavior, now does it? Seriously, John, we have to discuss the strange escalation of this biting. I mean nibbling is one thing...even, even sucking...but actual biting? I know you'd never hurt me, but I'm afraid I'd hurt you. Inadvertently. Like I hurt your tongue, although I did that deliberately. But I could bite you harder than I intend because you bring me so hard, so fast, so fucking intensely I can't control myself half the time. You know, John," she continued, voice solemn, expression concerned, "this is odd. The biting, and the way you want me to clench your cock so tightly inside of me...it's as if you want me to hurt you, just a little. Is that it? You want me to hurt you just enough to get you off? John?"

John was staring at her. Frozen in place. Captivated. Amused. Aroused by her very serious tone, her honest puzzlement. Her rosy lips moist from his mouth. Her hair falling wildly all about her. Her clothes outlining her form and curves. He covered her mouth again with his hand. Scowled. "Seriously, Moira, shut up. Or I will have a raging hard-on and we will have to have rough, rough sex right here on the floor. And I'll be even later to Weir's office and even deeper in it with her. Got it?"

She moved his hand away again, kissed it. Stepped close to kiss his mouth. "As deep as you are with me, sweetie? When your cock is deep, deep inside of me?"

"Fuck." She laughed. He smiled. Kissed her. A deep, probing kiss. Tongue thrusting into her mouth, demanding. He reached round, swatted her rear. "Move that pert little ass, baby!"

She laughed, led him out of the bathroom. But turned, solemn again. "Seriously, John, we need to talk about this. The biting. The–"

"Stop!" He held up a hand. "We will, don't you worry, baby. In detail. In every little detail. With a show and tell that will have you panting for me, drenched for me, and throbbing with animal need. So hungry you'll come when I look at you."

"Shut up, John!" she flared, but her voice was soft. Desirous. "I've been thinking...do you think we've having too much–"

"No, hell no!" He kissed her again. Abruptly left before he became more aroused. He strode, swaggered down the hallway until his leg began to ache. Reminded he slowed, began to limp. A more pronounced limp than was necessary. He licked his lips. Shook his head. Trying to push all thoughts, all memories of Moira from his mind. From his body. He felt so good, so alive. Especially after sex. Sex with Moira. He wondered if she knew how much he got off on her serious scientific analysis of every detail. Her almost innocent concern. He felt as horny as a teenager and felt himself stir at the thought. "Down, boy, please," he muttered, swallowing a laugh.

Schooling his expression he awkwardly climbed the stairs. Limped into Elizabeth's office. "Hi." At her raised eyebrow he limped to a chair, sat gingerly. "Am I late?"

"A little. Don't tell me. Every little detail?"

John looked down at his leg, rubbing it slightly as he stretched it out in front of him. Hid his quick smile. "Yes." He tried to sound aggravated.

"How is the leg?"

He shrugged. "Not bad. Just a little stiff." His mouth quirked, trapping the laugh bubbling inside him. He could only imagine what Moira would make of the word. How she would use it to tease him, arouse him. Get him off with it.

"John?"

"Sorry. I was just thinking." He met her gaze. Perfectly calm. Collected. Switching off his emotions, reactions. Ignoring how much he wanted to have remained in that bathroom, to have continued that particular conversation with Moira. To have been fucking her full throttle. Their naked bodies dancing in the mirrors or the shower. He swallowed, shutting it all down. "It's not bad, but my arm is sore too. Carson said he'll be able to remove the stitches in a few days. But you didn't ask me here for a medical report, did you?"

"No." Her assessing gaze raked over him.

"I know what this is about, Elizabeth. My recklessness? Thought so," he surmised at her look. Part surprise, part annoyance.

"As a matter of fact, John, yes. It is. And before you start on about Moira it has nothing to do with her. Well, not specifically. I don't care who was out there. You shouldn't have gone on a rescue mission, let alone a mission to contain Ford in your state! Look at you, John! Dashing off when you had a concussion that knocked you out for two days! A bullet wound to your leg from which you nearly bled out! Not to mention your arm savagely cut to remove your tracking device! What were you thinking? No, don't answer that!" She held up a hand, forestalling him. "Don't, don't say Moira, or how you were the only one that could save her! That you were the only one who could take care of Ford! Lorne and the marines were more than capable of doing both! More than capable!"

John nodded. Her anger rising to the surface, startling him. "Yes, they were," he mildly agreed. "But they weren't me."

"Why–"

"Two reasons. No, three. No, four." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Ford. My alternate, dark side self. Moira. And because I'm the guy. That guy. It's my job. And just to be clear, nobody knows Ford better than me. Did," he quietly corrected. "And no one knows that dark side version of me better than me. Trust me on this. And yes, Moira. You damn well know if it had been McKay you wouldn't have batted an eye at my going. Hell, you would have pushed me through the Stargate yourself."

"That's not true, John!" she objected. "The needs of this city, of this populace outweigh the rescue of any one person! Your recklessness endangered not only yourself but this city, this populace!"

"And if it had been Rodney where would this city, this populace be? Without him?"

"All right, fair enough. But you still shouldn't have gone!"

"You see? But since it was Moira you think I acted recklessly. I would have gone no matter who was in danger. I would have gone if it had been anyone else. Any of our people. We don't leave our people behind. Any of them," he argued. Anger was brimming.

"But when you are injured you shouldn't be leading a rescue mission, much less going on our own! No matter who it is that needs help! John, you are the military leader of Atlantis! We need you more than any one mission, one rescue, one person. It's a hard burden but you have to accept it."

"I won't leave anyone behind," he stated. Voice terse. "Your hang-up is because it was Moira, isn't it? Let me tell you, Elizabeth, I'd do it again. For anyone. For her. Nothing, nothing will keep me from her. Nothing."

"And that's the problem, John," Elizabeth complained. Glaring at him. "You've become even more reckless. Ever since you first became involved with her. I have no doubt you would have gone after anyone, even wounded as you were. Still are. But because it was Moira you went off by yourself!"

"Yes. To face myself...him. Lorne and his team had their hands full with–"

"That's no excuse! What is it, John? Do you have this compulsion to be her knight in shining armor? Do you think she'll love you less if you aren't the hero every time there's a crisis?"

Her words cut a little too close for comfort. "No! I just–" he began. Defensive.

"Just what? Does she want you to risk your life for her every time there's a crisis?"

"No! But I will. For her. For anyone."

"Will you, John? Recklessly for anyone, or just for her? The IOA is going to have a field day with this! Not to mention the SGC. You think I'm on your case? Just wait, John. Just wait."

He frowned. It sounded like a threat, and he did not respond well to threats. "I can imagine. What did you expect me to do? Just lay back in a bed and wait for Lorne to rescue her?"

"Yes! That's exactly what I expected. What you should have done! Heal your injuries, trust your subordinates and recognize your role here in Atlantis!"

"You don't understand. Ford was an unpredictable psychotic who wanted me to either join his crusade or punish me for not joining. And me...him...the colonel, he was going to take her. Take Moira away from me to that other Atlantis. Through the anomaly. I couldn't allow that." An emotion slipped, but he forced it down. The thought of losing Moira.

"You don't know that for certain."

"Yes, I do know. I know him like no else ever could. It would have happened if I hadn't been there to stop it. To stop him. And it was my duty to eliminate Ford as a threat...one way or another." He scowled.

"I know. I am sorry about that. Truly. It can't have been easy," she commiserated.

"No. It wasn't. But it had to be done. Ford gave me no option."

Elizabeth sighed. "I just need you to realize your importance here. As military commander you have wide-ranging responsibilities. Not only personal ones. Not only to Moira and your team. But to all of Atlantis. To every person based here. You can't go recklessly running after Moira every time something happens to her. To anyone, really. Certainly not when you are injured." She shoved a paper across the desk at him. "I've already received this. Printed it out for you. The IOA...their concerns, shall we say, over your precipitous marriage."

John glanced at the paper. "Great. More crap. Over the transfer list."

"Yes. Wonder how the IOA will interpret that reckless act? And now this? And the ones before? Funny how it all comes down to Moira, isn't it, John?"

His gaze narrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know," she retorted. Irritated by his attitude, his denials.

He stood. "I don't care. Fire me if you need to, that's fine. Recall me to Earth, whatever. Just don't, don't ever try to come between Moira and me," he warned.

"Of course not, John! See how you react? All you need to do is to remember your importance here. Temper your actions. Be reasonable. And a tad more, shall we say, discreet?" She rolled her eyes. "Even though you are married you should still be able to..."

"To what?" he challenged. He stepped behind the chair. To grip the back of it as anger flooded.

"Dial it down? Fuck no. Does it somehow belittle my so-called importance here? Because I am involved in a passionately sexual relationship with my wife? Should I have asked permission before I moved her room next to mine?" he snapped.

"As a matter of fact, yes! You could have informed me! Not only about that but about marrying her in the first place!"

"She's my wife now. That's all I should have to say!"

"I can do without the tone, John!"

"I can do without the attitude. And the constant interference!"

"Then get your act together, John! I'll be blunt, shall I?"

"Aren't you always?" he quipped, but neither cracked a smile.

She stood. Palms pressing down on the desk. "The honeymoon is over. Drop the disappearing act. Drop the recklessness and stop trying to impress her. You've got her, John. Relax."

"I'm perfectly relaxed. It's everyone else who is upset, uptight. Like you."

"You go on believing that, John. I need you to be more professional, less the lover and more the colonel. I've told you this before, and I will again. You can't let your personal feelings for her interfere with your job and your position here. Understand?"

John smiled. A cold smile. So pissed he wanted to shout. Instead his voice was very quiet. Very low. "Oh, I understand, Doctor Weir. Believe me. Nothing is going to come between us. Nothing and no one. You need to understand that."

"John! John!" Elizabeth called, seeing she had pushed him too far. But he turned, and limped out of the office without another word.


	7. Chapter 7

Synthesis7

"John! John!" Rodney called, his tone rising in irritation as the military commander seemingly ignored him, clambering awkwardly down the stairs. "John! Did you have time to check the oh never mind," he backpedaled as John glanced at him. The glance was enough. "It can wait," Rodney decided, seeing the fury as John passed him.

Rodney looked up to see Elizabeth standing outside of her office, hands gripping the guard rail as she glared at the retreating figure of John. An equally furious expression tightening her face. "Oh oh," Rodney muttered. Changing course yet again he vacated the control room.

* * *

"John! John!"

John scowled at yet another voice summoning him. A woman's voice, but it wasn't Moira's. He turned, hoping his expression would scare her away from him. He watched Susan approach. Large breasts bouncing in her tight yellow shirt. Blond curls bouncing past her shoulders. "What?" he snapped, seeing her angered expression.

Susan stopped. Stared at him. "John...you...John..." Her anger was tempered by desire. He was even sexier when he was pissed. She touched his arm. "We have to talk."

"Talk? About what?" he asked, irritated. Impatient.

"John!" she exclaimed, blue eyes widening. "About what happened between us!"

"What? Nothing has happened between us," John retorted, puzzled.

"Damn it, John, stop it! You know damn well what you did! What you made me do to you! You...you've never been so rough or so...callous. So detached. And even if you are married or were just saying that to spice it up we still need to discuss the–"

"Whoa, whoa! What the hell are you..." John paused. Recalled the colonel's parting words. To say hello to Susan for him. Realized. "Shit," he said warmly.

"You remember now, you bastard? Not that it wasn't pleasurable but you–"

"It wasn't me," he informed coldly.

"What?" She snorted. "Oh, it was your twin, then? Your clone?"

"Sort of." He took a step back from her, moving out of her reach. "It was my double. My darker self. An alternate version from an alternate reality," he tried to explain, but could see the doubt and skepticism already in her eyes.

"Well, well, this is a first. I've heard all sorts of excuses, but this...this is–"

"Not an excuse but the truth. I can prove it! Check the mission logs. Or ask McKay! I was off world on the mission to contain Ford when he was here. And furthermore I am married to Moira. And ever since I've been with her there hasn't been anyone else."

Susan frowned, hands on her hips. "Bullshit! You expect me to believe that another version of you was here in the city and that he–"

"Yes. Ask anyone. Ask Elizabeth. It wasn't me," he repeated tersely.

"Maybe I'll go ask Moira. Your so-called wife," she mocked.

"You do that. And she is my wife. And she knows the truth. She knows I would never betray her. You see, the colonel was here to kidnap her. And he did. You, you were just a diversion, just easy sex, nothing more. The colonel's idea of a game. It wasn't me. It wasn't me," he said curtly, voice lowering. Abruptly he turned and left her staring after him.

* * *

Moira sat at the table in the infirmary, eying the sequences on the computer screen. Spirals of genetic code translated into chains of molecules, each colored differently according to their chemical identities. Three columns of data simultaneously streamed along the screen. "Carson, you are right! These are different," she remarked.

"I thought so, love, but I wanted your opinion," Carson agreed, standing behind her. He eyed the screen over her shoulder. "That's why I paged you. I needed you to confirm it. There's more here then the enzyme from the Wraith. Ford was mutating, or at least his Wraith tissue was."

She nodded. "Even beyond an artificial alteration. Yes. It's like it was starting to take over." She shuddered at the thought. "May I send all of this to my laptop? I need it for comparison." She thought of the flash drive. What the colonel had placed on it for her.

"Of course, Moira. Comparison to what?" Carson asked, hitting the keys to execute the command.

"Um..." she hesitated. "Other things. Other Wraith. I'm collating the data on the Wraith genome. The enzyme. The retro-virus. The gene therapy. The Hoffan serum. Everything," she noted. "Carson, didn't you say that the gene therapy was more likely to be successful in the Wraith than the naturally occurring ATA gene?"

"Aye, in theory, but now I am reconsidering that. Why? Oh...the colonel from the other Atlantis?"

"Yes. It worked there. The natural application. Too successfully." Moira frowned. "They found a way round it, somehow. Around the natural resistance of the gene to be absorbed into their own cells, their own proteins. I wonder if the enzyme played a part."

"Because of Ford? Yes, you may be onto something, Moira," Carson considered. "We're missing something, aren't we? Some vital piece. Whatever happened in that reality that did not happen here. Not just the breeding program," he paused, laid a hand on her shoulder, "but something else. Some other variable."

"Yes," she agreed. Touched her stomach as it clenched. The memory of the attempted harvest. The harvest of unborn fetuses to acquire the ATA gene. "There has to be something more..." she mused, touched her cheek. She felt warm.

"Are you all right, love? You look flushed." Carson patted her shoulder, blue eyes full of concern as she turned to him.

"I'm fine...just bad memories, is all," she smiled. Eyed the screen again. Wondered if the enzyme was affecting her. Wondered where John was. Knowing he could help with the erotic affects. The rush of adrenaline. Endorphins. Would be more than happy to help with that. Her smile broadened and she felt a blush heating her skin.

"All right, Moira. I need to show these results to Colonel Sheppard. I hate to bring up the subject of Ford's autopsy but he will be expecting–"

"Don't!" Rodney joined them. Shaking his head. "Whatever you do, Carson, do not approach John right now. He's in a bad mood. I mean a really bad mood. I mean on a scale from one to ten he's at a fifteen right now. On the warpath ever since he came out of Weir's office."

Moira stood. "Wonderful," she muttered. "Thanks for the heads up, Rodney."

"Don't thank me, Moira," he quipped. Pointed at her. "You need to restore his good mood so I can order some supplies."

"And since when is that my job?" she asked, causing Carson to smile.

"Ever since you married him," Rodney countered, not daunted.

She smiled. "Oh. Right. Okay. I'll try, but if he's on the warpath it may be best to just keep out of his way for a bit. Are those supplies for the bachelor party?"

"Um...yes..." Rodney glanced at Carson. Looked back at her. "I mean...I was...if you...I thought we had agreed to go ahead and plan the–"

"Yes. Please do, Rodney," Moira soothed. "I think John would enjoy it, despite what he says. And I know you all would."

Rodney smiled. "Then consider it done, Moira. But you need to restore his good mood first."

"Fine. But no strippers," she warned. Carson laughed.

Rodney sighed. "Fine," he mourned.

* * *

"John! John!"

John cursed under his breath at the summons. Another angry summons from yet another woman. He whirled, bottles of beer in his hands. "What? What?" he snapped, nearly shouted. But inwardly sighed. "Oh. Sorry."

Teyla Emmagan shook her head, reaching him. Eying his tense impatience. The beers in both hands. Bottles clinking softly against each other. "Colonel? I merely wanted a quick word. Unless you are busy?" She glanced at the bottles again.

John shrugged. "Yeah, I am. Very busy. Or I will be. So...quick word? About?"

"About what you said."

John frowned. "Not again. What did I say, or rather, are you sure it was me?" he asked.

Teyla's brow rose. "Excuse me? Of course it was you. When you made that comment about my leadership qualities and the accusation that I was neglecting my people for mere creature comforts I had to question the–"

"Crap. It wasn't me, okay? No," he held up a hand, forestalling her objections. The bottles clinked together. "Really! Ask anyone. While I was on that mission my alternate self from an alternate reality invaded the city and took some liberties, then took Moira. I would never question your leadership of your people or accuse you of neglecting them, okay? I'm telling the truth, Teyla, ask anyone. I've got to go."

Before she could comment he turned, limped down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. Bottles clinking noisily at his side. Teyla sighed, considering. She had encountered stranger things since joining the Atlantis team. Pondering his words she strolled to find Rodney.

* * *

Moira entered her room, paused. John was sitting at the table. A row of beer bottles were standing in a perfect line, like soldiers. Two were already empty. He was working on the third. Deep, long swallows as he stared at nothing. She sighed, moved to him. "That bad, sweetie?"

He was silent a moment, eying her. "Where have you been, Moira?" he asked quietly.

"Carson. He needed my opinion on some data. That's all." She sat next to him. Watched him drink some more beer. She touched his arm. A soothing caress. She could feel his tension. See his anger in the lines of his body. Could hear it in his voice, low and dangerous and sexy all at once. She kissed him gently. "I love you, John." She waited.

John merely looked at her. Beer in hand. Noted her rosy face. Worry. Her brown eyes full of love for him, concern. Desire, even.

Moira touched his thigh. Ran her fingers lightly along, up towards his lap. "Is it still tease John's cock day, sweetie?" she softly asked.

He finally smiled. "I wish," he grumbled. "Apparently it's crush John's balls day." As she touched his arm again he drank. "Take one, baby. You're going to need it."

"What happened?"

"What happened? What happened?" he repeated gruffly. "What happened is that there is a whole line of people waiting to rip me a new one. Starting with Weir. Not to mention the escapades of my dark side self. The fun he had before he took you."

She considered. "Weir? About the rescue?" She decided to address that first. Knew that was the thing bothering him the most. Causing the anger and tension.

"Yeah. Recklessness."

"Well, she was right, John."

He almost dropped the bottle of beer. Stared at her. "What?"

"You shouldn't have gone on the mission. You shouldn't have come after me."

"Why? So you could run off with him?" he snapped.

"No," she soothed. "Because you were injured. Concussed, shot, cut up...you needed to heal. To recover. Not to be risking your life yet again."

"Is that how it is? You're going to rip me a new one too? Well, get in line, baby, because they're all lining up to ream my ass over this, over that, over you, over us, over him! So take your best shot, Moira. Go on!" he ordered. At her silence he sighed. "Sorry. I know you're only saying that out of concern for me. For my well-being. Because you love me."

"Of course, John. There's no other reason," she assured. Wondering about the colonel now. His antics in the city before he had taken her.

John sighed. Eyed the bottle. "Apparently...apparently your life means nothing. Apparently I'm supposed to delegate and do nothing while some fucking dark side version of me takes you away from me. Apparently I'm not doing my job because you are more important to me than anyone else. Apparently this," he gestured in the air, "was all a fucking mistake." He stood. Suddenly drank, chugging the third beer.

Moira tensed, staring. She tried to remain calm. "How so, sweetie?"

"How so? How so?" He set the bottle on the table. Lining it up with the rest. Licked his lips. "I should have looked at my job description more closely. Because God knows the IOA and the SGC are. Weir is. We weren't supposed to be like this, Moira. Apparently it's against their regulations."

"What is?"

"Come here." He caught her hand, pulled her to her feet. Led her to the bed. He sat, laid back as she sat next to him. "I said come here." She sighed, scooted next to him. Stroked his hair. He touched her thigh as she sat very close. His fingers caressing. "We shouldn't have gone this far, Moira. Hell, it's not like we planned it! Any of it!"

"You mean this? My room closer to yours?" she tested.

"I mean everything! We shouldn't have fallen in love with each other! We shouldn't have such intense, exuberant, passionate sex! Over and over. We shouldn't have gotten engaged and married. Apparently that's not allowed for the military commander of Atlantis! To have a vibrant sexual relationship, to fall in love and to marry you. Because it's clouding my judgment. It's all I think about. And nothing will ever stop me from coming after you when you need me. You see? I guess we should get divorced. I guess you should move back down those two fucking hallways. I guess we can only have quiet, discreet sex."

Moira let him vent, stroking his arm. "Is that what you want, John?"

"No! Hell no!" He eyed her. "I want you. You! In my life. In my room. In my bed. In my fucking bed, Moira, our bed! Fucking. The hell with them!" He laughed harshly. "Maybe the colonel had it right. To abduct you and take you through the anomaly. I should do that. It's a good plan. To live together, to love each other, to have the loudest, most exuberant sex we want. Every day. Every night. Every hour. Can't they see I can do my job and have you as well?"

"It's all right, John. You balance your duties and your time with me. No one could doubt your devotion to this city and its safety. To your men and your teams."

"To you? What about my devotion to you, Moira?" he questioned. "And yours to me. Yours. I'm not giving that up, Moira. You know, I think they preferred it before with my lots some women. Now that I'm with you and only you they can't seem to let us just be together. And the sex...what business is it of theirs if we love to have sex? Often. Loudly. Exuberantly."

Moira felt a blush warm her face. "It's um...not, John. I mean...I mean...it's not the, the first time we might have been, um, overheard, or, or–"

"Hey, Moira, when was the first time?"

"What?" she asked, the question throwing her.

"You know, the colonel had quite a time here, so I've been told. Before he took you. And now everyone thinks it was me, but it wasn't, baby, I swear! You know that."

"Yes, John, you were on that mission," she soothed, as he changed topics yet again. "Sweetie, why don't you relax and get some sleep?"

"I'm perfectly relaxed, Moira...when I'm with you, unless I'm aroused, of course." He smiled. But scowled. "It was him. The colonel wasn't faithful to you, Moira. Did you know? Ah...you didn't. See? You are two are more alike in that regard, aren't you?" he taunted. A trace of anger over her actions with the colonel lingering, lingering.

Moira stared, shocked. Shocked at what the colonel had done. Shocked at John's comparison, his resentment although he had appeared to have forgiven her, to have moved past it. "John..." she said softly, uncertain as to what to say. "I don't...I don't believe you," she whispered.

"You don't?" He glared at her. "Why the hell not?" He sat. Pointed at her. "He was unfaithful to you, Moira. Fucked another woman...hell, not even the same woman, another Moira since there are none but you. Yeah, so he was unfaithful, unlike you since you fucked him and he's me so it's not but it is, damn it, it is! Fuck that deal you made! I'd rather you had left me on that ship in Ford's hands then have to fuck him again! Could you tell the difference? Could you?" he demanded.

Moira scooted back from him, startled, dismayed at the rush of anger, jealousy. "John, please! I couldn't leave you on that ship! You were being tortured! It was the only way–"

"Was it? The only way?" he challenged, voice slurring slightly as the liquor not only loosened his tongue but his emotions. "Or did you want him? Did you want to fuck him, Moira? Just to see if it was the same or different? Some scientific analysis of my dark side self. Well? Which was better? Me or him? Answer me, damn it!"

"No! You don't know what you're saying, John! Shut up! I don't believe anything you say since you are drunk and jealous! Jealous of yourself? That's ridiculous! That's–"

"Is it? You were going to run off with him!" he shouted.

"I was not!" she flared, angered. "Damn it, John, everything I did I did for you! For you!"

He stared. Calmed a moment as her words penetrated. Her love. Her distress. "I'm telling you the truth, Moira. He betrayed you. He fucked Susan...probably to get the edge off before he got his hands on you. She thinks it's me but it's not it's him. And he probably had her suck him off too...she was the best at that...she could suck a cock like you wouldn't believe." He paused, as if lost in the memory. "Wide. Too wide...not tight like yours...not nearly as sweet. So fucking sweet..."

Moira swallowed. His voice has lowered into a husky drawl. His gaze roving, and Moira realized he probably wasn't talking about her mouth but another part of her anatomy. She felt hot. She scooted closer to him. Touched his arm, gently stroking. "John...go to sleep. You're drunk. You...you are upset and, and–"

"Am I? Tell me, who was the first?" At her blank look he sighed, touched her thigh. "Your first. Your first lover! The guy who plucked your cherry. I wish, I wish it had been me," he pouted moodily. "I would have savored that cherry, sucked it dry and given you that first sweet orgasm. When? I bet you waited. Being a scientist and all. Analyzing it. I bet you waited. So, who was it? A boy? No, a man. I bet you waited for just the right guy to pluck your cherry and taste it, didn't you?"

Moira sighed. Putting up with his drunken rambling as he ventured into uncharted territory. "John, when you sober up you should talk to Weir. Clear the air. I'm sure she realizes you are more than competent in your–"

"Who was it?" John persisted, unable to let it go as he stared at her. "Oh!" He pointed at her. "I bet it was the fiancee, wasn't it?" She stiffened. "Ah ha! What's his name, Moira? The dead guy. He took your cherry, didn't he? Ooh, naughty, naughty Moira letting him pluck her cherry before they were even married. Although since he's dead now I guess it was worth it for him, huh? Or was it? You weren't very experienced sexually, baby, before I got between your legs. He couldn't have plucked it as good as I would have."

She stared, appalled, rattled. Knowing he didn't know what he was saying but still she looked away from him, upset. Felt tears as bad memories spilled into her. "John," she tried to keep her voice calm, "go to sleep. You need to talk to Weir when you–"

"Was it? Did he? There's no way he'd be as good as me, baby. The way I would have plucked that fucking sweet cherry of yours...oh, oh shit! Moira! He's dead! He's dead, and oh fuck! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to–"

"Just shut up, John!" she flared, drawing away from him. She stood. "Go to sleep!"

"Was it him? I don't even know the dead guy's name, Moira! Oh sorry! Shit! I mean...shit, I didn't mean to...Moira...it wasn't me! I didn't have sex with her or anyone I swear! Unlike you, although I guess you did have sex with me not just me but the other me...crap! I...what's his name, Moira? The dead guy who took your cherry, your sweet fucking cherry? I can't believe he'd leave you after taking that sweetness...that lushness of your oh..." He smiled at her. "Hey, baby, how many? Not many lovers have tasted you, have they? And he...that dead guy...how did he die? Did he die from lack of it? Or did he die from too much of it? I know! Your lushness must have killed him. Did you kill him with sex, Moira? Did you...oh shit..." His rambling paused as his head buzzed. Even through the inebriation he saw he had hit a nerve. Saw the hurt on her face, the tears glimmering. The shock. As if he had just slapped her across the face. Struck an open wound. Guilt and darkness swallowed her. He recognized the signs, the symptoms, a mirror to his own past, his own darkness. "Shit. Moira?"

Moira stared at him, appalled. Knowing he had no idea what he was saying, what he had inadvertently triggered in her. Hit upon the darkness within her. Every nerve tensed. A cold bathed her. Tears burned behind her eyes. His words hateful, accusing. Unknowing. "Don't."

One word. Tersely stated. Full of emotion nonetheless. John stared. Felt his gut clench. Head spin from the beer. "I'm sorry! Moira, I just...I need to know, I need–"

"You need to get sober! Just leave me the hell alone until you do! No, just leave me the hell alone!" she decided. She whirled, stormed out of the room before he could say something worse, or she could.

John rubbed his aching temple. "Shit! Good going, John!" he chastised himself. Fell back onto the bed as the room began to spin. "Damn it!"


	8. Chapter 8

Synthesis8

Moira sat in the biology lab. She couldn't concentrate on the work in front of her. Mulling over all the things John had said. All the flak he was getting over rescuing her. Over their marriage. Over the wild sex. Knew he was being stubborn. Knew Weir had several good points and she agreed with many of them. Over his recklessness. The rescue while he was wounded.

His startling revelations about the colonel upset her. She felt jealous, betrayed, although she knew she shouldn't. That the colonel wasn't her John, wasn't her husband. It still bothered her, thinking of him with another woman, although she knew it was stupid. Unrealistic. She felt tension coil in her, recalling John's own jealousy, anger over what she had done with the colonel, despite the circumstances. Wondered if he ever would forgive her. If he considered what she had done a betrayal of him.

And then the fact that an ex-lover still was stationed at Atlantis made her tense. One who thought that John had a renewed interest in her. She wondered how many others there were scattered throughout the city. She trusted John, but wondered if she had somehow pushed him into one of their beds by her own actions. And then the mocking over her deceased fiancee. His words close, but not accurate. Close enough to wound. To open the doors in her mind to the dark places, the dark memories. She shoved the memories aside, but they persisted. She pressed her hands to her closed eyes, as if she could block them that way.

"Moira? Are you all right?"

She dropped her hands, lifted her wet face to Evan. She wiped her eyes. "Fine. Just...some bad memories, that's all."

"Oh." Unconvinced he sat next to her, grabbing a chair. "Are you sure? I mean...well...we kind of need your help."

"My help?" she asked, distracted.

"Yes. With um...Colonel Sheppard. But I can see you already know he's in one of his infamous moods. Bad moods. On a scale from one to ten he's escalated into a twenty."

Moira sighed. "And drunk to boot, yes. He said all sorts of...anyway, he didn't mean to...he didn't mean...he's under a lot of stress, Evan. All the flak over....stuff."

"You know, Moira," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "when men get upset, really upset, they get drunk. And when men get drunk, especially reticent men all sorts of things spill out of them. They say a lot of things they don't mean. That they will regret once they're sober."

"Oh yes, he'll regret it," she muttered darkly. Met his gaze. "Thank you, Evan. I know he, he didn't mean to say those...things about...but he...all the flak...over rescuing me when he was injured, which he shouldn't have done. As for the rest...I...I don't know..." She eyed the microscope. "Maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe it all was. But I...I can't give him up, Evan! I just, just can't!" Fresh tears filled her eyes.

"Why would you have to give him up, Moira? No one can come between you now. As for his stupidity and thoughtlessness...well, he was drunk. He loves you, Moira."

"I...know." Yet she sounded doubtful. "I don't know what to do, Evan."

"Talk to him when he's sober. Calmer. And if you can somehow sweeten his disposition before tomorrow it would be greatly appreciated. Otherwise we'll be going on a brutal training run on some Godforsaken planet, I know it. Please, Moira..." He moved to his knees in front of her, "you're our only hope." She smiled. "To spare us from the wrath of Colonel Sheppard."

"Evan!" She sighed, but smiled as he moved to his feet. "I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise you anything."

* * *

John wolfed down the black coffee. Downed some pills to ease his headache. Downed a glass of water. Ate a few bites and then snatched as many candy bars as he could stuff into the pockets of his jacket, ignoring the curious stares of the people in the cafeteria. He strode down the hallways, glowering expression causing everyone to give him a wide berth.

He slowed, limping as his leg began to ache. Reached the botany lab. He entered and nodded curtly to the scientists. The women staring at him in silent speculation, regard as he crossed to the hothouse in the back. He moved slowly past varying specimens of plants. Shipments of different crops. Flowers. Saw the row devoted to countless roses. Roses he had ordered weeks ago. A smile came and went. "Doctor Brown?"

The auburn-haired woman turned, smiled. "Colonel Sheppard. I think you may have gone a little overboard here," she teased, indicating the number of roses dominating the whole row.

He shrugged. "Not really. Not now. I need those."

"Oh? Okay...how many?"

"All of them."

"All? Excuse me?" Katie Brown looked at the roses, then to him in surprise. Saw his sheepish gaze. "Oh my...that bad?"

"Yeah. I'm afraid I put both feet in this time," he admitted. Hesitated. "Um, I don't know if she'll forgive me...after what I said to her...I...I didn't mean to, to hurt her..." Guilt assailed him. The memory of her pained expression, the vulnerability he had tapped and hit without realizing.

Katie stared. Replied, "I'm sure she will, colonel. She loves you. Just talk to her. Explain. Now, how many did you need?"

He felt a flicker of relief, but wondered. Wondered if Moira would forgive him. Be able to trust him after his accusations, his jealousy, his harshness. "All. Do you have a big enough bag to, um, hide them? And some, um, vases, or something?" he asked awkwardly.

She smiled, amused by his chagrin, his discomfort. "A few bags, yes. Let's see what we have."

* * *

Moira nibbled on a sandwich, but sat back. Stomach upset. She sighed, drank some Coke. Shook her head. "Okay, I guess." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's been an hour. He should be sober by now, right?"

Evan smiled. "Are you sure? You should eat more before you face the dragon."

"True, but I'm not hungry." She sighed. "I don't know exactly what to, to say."

"Don't worry about that, Moira. Once he sees you, how upset you are, he'll realize how stupid he's been and apologize. Then you can set him right."

"Maybe..." She frowned. Reluctant. "The thing is, Evan...what if he has changed his mind? Changed his feelings about, about me? What if he realizes this whole thing was a mistake and that we shouldn't have gone this far? I mean all the flak he's getting now. He doesn't need any of that! He's got enough responsibility here without adding me to the mix of it and besides I think he may have been happier before all of this, before me and our, our marriage and now what if it all boils down to this? His job and the rest of–"

"Moira, no," Evan halted her rush of words, of worry. "He won't change his mind. Once the colonel sets his mind on a course then that's it. There's no turning back. None."

"Oh."

"Believe me. He's made it quite clear. Always has. That you belong with him. Always have. The real question is if you want to remain with him after this latest debacle or not."

"Me? Of, of course I do! But I caused this whole debacle! I–"

"Did you? I don't think so, and nor does he. Go talk to him, Moira."

She sighed. "Okay. I guess. I don't like facing the wrath of Sheppard either, you know."

Evan smiled. "I know...but only you can tame the beast. Go!"

She shook her head. "Is that an order, major?"

"Yes, doctor. Go face the dragon."

"Yes, sir." Moira had to laugh. But she quickly became somber as she left the cafeteria.

* * *

John fussed about the room. Setting the flowers, the chocolate. Crossing back into his to prepare, as if he was setting a trap to catch her. To lure her. To enchant her. He recalled some of the things he had said. Cursed himself over and over in his head. He sat on his bed, waiting. Rubbed his forehead. A dull ache persisted, a leftover from the hangover he had almost avoided. He pulled out the chain he wore. Fingered his dog tags, then stared at the gold wedding ring. The legend inscribed on it in Gaelic. _Gra anois agus godeo. _Love now and forever.

He sighed. Turning it round and round. He took it off the chain. Replaced the chain under his shirt. Stared hard at the ring. Recalled the quick, impromptu wedding. To Moira. His Moira. He frowned. Wondered if it had been all a mistake. This rush to a heated relationship. Marriage. This emotional roller coaster he found himself on with her. The heights of passion, of sex, of love. The lows of arguments, indecision, suspicion. The darkness in their pasts that seemed to both link them and divide them at the same time. He stared at the little gold ring.

Deciding.

* * *

Moira paused outside her room. Hours had passed. She had been wandering aimlessly, reluctant to face John. Hoping he had sobered up at last. Bracing herself for his inevitable bad mood. Hoping he had forgotten most of what he had said. She steeled herself. Entered her room and closed the door. Froze. Her mouth dropped open as she gasped.

The table was covered with roses. Dozens and dozens. Hundreds in vases, jars, loose. Reds. Pinks of all shades. Whites. Yellows. Lavenders. Red and white stripes. Nearly obliterating the table. More stood on the dresser. Still more were scattered along the floor. Petals were strewn on the bed. On the floor. She neared, inhaling the rich aroma as it permeated the air. She saw the chocolate bars scattered among the flowers on the table. Saw a bottle of caramel sauce with a green bow. "John," she said warmly, feeling tears. A laugh of utter delight escaped her.

John heard her gasp, her laugh. The way she had said his name. He smiled. Began to strum the guitar he held on his lap. To lure her.

Moira whirled, hearing the music. A familiar melody she couldn't quite place. Quiet. She neared the threshold between their two rooms. Slowly, as if afraid he would stop. As if afraid she would spook him. This startling and uncharacteristic display of emotion, romance.

John began to sing, his fine tenor voice on key and quiet, colored with a hint of a husky edge that Moira found sexy, riveting. She neared, pausing between their two rooms as John's voice hit the air to accompany the music. "_Baby, when I think about you, I think about love. Darling, don't want to live without you and your love..."_ He continued with the song, voice lowering further as he reached the refrain, "_Feel like making love...feel like making love to you..."_

Moira stepped into his room as he played the guitar. Stopped. Utterly enchanted, enamored. Stared raptly at him. He was sitting on his bed, intent on his guitar. Her gaze devoured him. From his disordered hair, short strands falling across his forehead. Long lashes shadowing his downcast gaze. Strong jaw line shadowed by scruff just beginning to show. He wore a black and green flannel shirt. Unbuttoned past his collarbone, giving her a glimpse of his chest. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Black jeans encased his long legs, but his feet were bare. She gulped, breathless. His sheer gorgeousness overwhelming.

John finished. The music faded into silence. He licked his lips as if unaware of her. Licked them again, slowly. Tongue teasingly visible for a moment. Lower lip wet. Beckoning her like a magnet. He leaned over to set the guitar carefully aside. Finally straightening to look up at her. Brilliant green eyes assessing, serious. Smouldering. A slow smile formed, seeing her stunned, passionate reaction. But he gave her his best puppy dog look. Pouted. "So...Moira...am I forgiven?" he asked.

Moira was so bedazzled she couldn't speak for a moment. Her lips parted but no sound came. She felt tears as the rush of emotions. Overcome by surprise, love, lust. Then she collected herself, smiled. Walked over to him. "John...you are such an idiot."

"What?" he exclaimed. "Hey! I–"

She kissed him, leaning close to capture his mouth with hers. A long, passionate kiss. She murmured, wanting him. All of him. Her lips parted, tongue darting across his. She nibbled his lower lip, sucking, softly moaned. She stepped back, flushed. Aroused. "Oh John!" Then she flung herself onto his lap, hugging him.

He grinned, relaxing at last. Reveling in her love. "So?"

She kissed him again, hands running across his shoulders, chest. Tugging at the buttons. "Oh John! John! You...you..." She drew back suddenly, serious. Hand frozen on his chest. Brown eyes staring, staring. "John...do you love me?"

"Huh?" he asked, confused.

"Do you love me? Not just the sex, but me...without the sex? Me? Do you?" she asked. Tense.

"Yes," he replied, brows furrowing in puzzlement.

"Do you?" she persisted, appearing so serious, so forlorn he inwardly cringed. "Even after, after what I did, for you? Even after...after all of this? Even after this, this flak you are getting. Because if you want a divorce, John, I'll understand, I will, I just need to know if you, if you love me. Love me despite all of this. Love me when you don't even know what, what terrible things I've done," her gaze fell to his chest, fingers tightening on his shirt, "and love me after, after everything else..."

He lifted her face to his. "I love you, Moira. You are Moira Sheppard now. That will never change. Unless you want it to. Can you forgive me? God...I hurt you, in ways I didn't even know I could...I'm sorry, sweetheart! I'm so sorry!" He kissed her gently. Hands stroking her back, soothing. Comforting. "Moira, do you forgive me?"

She nodded. Felt tears. Settled against him a moment as his arms enfolded her. "I love you, John. Can you forgive me? Can you–"

"Yes." He kissed her brow. "I'm sorry. All that shit spilled out of me...I don't even know where that came from...really, I don't. I just...need...you. I want you...all to myself. I never meant to hurt you, sweetheart, not like that, not in any way...I just...crap! I'm not good at this," he complained. Sighed. "But I love you, Moira. I love you."

"Okay." She relaxed. Stood suddenly, pulled him to his feet.

"Okay?" he questioned. He smiled, embraced her. Kissed her. Shoving her body along his. "Baby...I take it you forgive me? Really?" he tested. Still uncertain.

"Yes. John...John...take it all away. All of it. Take it away," she urged, pressing her body to his. Wanting to drown in his love, in sex, in his exclusive attentions.

He kissed her, stepping away slowly. Ran his hands down her arms. "Okay."

She smiled. "Okay? Just okay?" she teased, calming. She watched as he turned away to lift the guitar. He placed it against the wall. Moira admired the tight jeans, enclosing his rear. "John...oh John...such a fine, fine six you have...my God...that shirt...you...you sang! You sang...you...the roses! The..." she stammered, finally starting to articulate.

He moved back to her. "Wow...just the affect I wanted, Moira. You know me...exuberant sex. Exuberant romance. Sweetheart," he grew serious, "I am so sorry! I'm sorry! I never meant to hurt you, to cause you any–"

She touched his lips. "No. It's done. Over. We're past it now." She caught his hand, led him to her room. To her bed. "I...I...oh John..." She pushed him onto it. Clambered over him as he laughed in delight.

"Ah baby...wow! Moira, I just–"

She showered him with kisses, but scrambled off his suddenly, sat. "We can't."

"Huh?" He sat, scooted to the edge of the bed where she sat. He touched her back. "Moira? Are you all right? Sweetheart? We need to...we need sex, baby."

She met his gaze, bit her lower lip. He stared. "We can't, John. Can't have exuberant..." She sighed. Stood. But suddenly straddled his lap. "I want you! I want–"

"Then take me, baby, however you want," he encouraged. Hands sliding up to free her hair from the ponytail. To run through the rich silkiness, softness.

Moira kissed him repeatedly, moving on his lap. Hands sliding up his chest. Her mouth slid across his jaw, circling his ear until he groaned. Groaned with delight, surprise as she gently bit his earlobe, then nibbled down his throat. Her fingers unbuttoned the shirt as she proceeded to his collarbone. She opened the shirt, fingers caressing his chest, his sides. Down to his waist. She pulled back, smiled, but paused. Stared. Fingered the dog tags. "John? John, you didn't? John...where...where..." She did not see the wedding ring. Froze.

He held up his left hand. Displayed the gold band on his finger. "Where else, honey? On base only, though, okay? Not off world."

She stared, uncomprehending. Then her eyes lit up. "John? I...I thought you...you...oh John!" She pushed him backwards.

"Whoa, baby, let's...wow..." he laughed.

She kissed him. Hungry kisses claiming his mouth. His throat. Sliding down his chest.

John caressed her back, loving every minute of her sensual attentions. Wondered if the enzyme was finally affecting her. Didn't care either way. Anticipating the sex to come, knew it would be hot, so hot as he plotted what to do. How he wanted her.

Moira squirmed on him but pulled up suddenly. Sat, hands on his jeans. About to unzip them. "John, please, please, please tell me you have on green silk boxers!"

He stared, aroused at her excitement, enthusiasm. Could feel her arousal even through her clothes. "Uh...do I want to know why?"

She unzipped the jeans, opened them. Nearly squealed in delight. She touched the silky green fabric. "Oh John!"

He laughed at her happiness. "Wow...I didn't see that coming. Damn...oh Moira..." he groaned as she caressed. Slid up his body to kiss him.

"Jo-hn," she sang into his ear, teasing. Circled it with her tongue. "Can I tie you up? Please?"

He grinned. "Absolutely, baby. I'm yours."


	9. Chapter 9

Synthesis9

Moira straddled her husband. Running her hands up his bare arms as she carefully tied his wrists to the headboard. She tilted her head, examining her work, expression serious as she tested the ribbons securing him. Slid her fingers along his muscles. Scooted down his nearly naked body to rest on the green boxers he still wore. "I'm not sure. I think the headboard will hold but you need to be careful, sweetie. If you get off at full throttle you might break it and we need to be careful. Okay? John? John, are you listening?"

John was smiling, shifting under her. Staring in enamored delight. Moira had stripped to her purple bra and panties. Purple socks were still on her feet which he found adorable. Loose hair swirling around her bare skin. "So fucking beautiful, baby," he muttered. "I'm already at half salute here so you had better hurry before I do get off...oh damn damn..."

Moira smiled. Kissed him. Savoring the fullness of his lips, the taste of his mouth. Deep, hungry kisses as her fingers played upon his long, lean body. "I want to pleasure you, John," she breathed hotly into his ear.

"Fuck. I should try romance more often," he wryly observed. Moaned in tension, arousal as she slid down his body. Her mouth kissing, nipping, teasing. She nibbled along his waist, along his pelvic bone as she tugged the boxers. "Moira...baby...now..." He pulled at the bonds on his wrists, testing them. Still in control enough that he wouldn't break them. Not just yet.

"I want to pleasure you, John," she repeated. Fingers dancing along his crotch. Along his increasingly hard erection. She kissed along his thigh. John jerked, groaning as she nibbled. "My John," she said hotly. "Mine." Her fingers slid between his legs, his thighs. "How are the boys, sweetie?" she teased. Caressing, catching them in her hands.

John moaned, jerking. "Fuck! You are killing me, baby! Please, continue," he urged, voice hoarse.

Moira kissed slowly against the silky fabric. Mouthing his very hard erection. John thrust, nearly thrashed. Yanked at the bonds on his wrists so hard he almost broke them. He shifted, arching in absolute pleasure, torment. As she ran her wet mouth up, up the length of him. Abruptly circled the head and took him in. Gently, gently applied pressure with her lips, teeth. Biting suddenly and sucking at the same time.

John lost his breath, coming hard and fast. "Fuck! Oh Moira! God, oh God that is sweet! Moira! Fuck, fuck!" he exulted, thrashing. Nearly breaking the headboard as his arms strained, yanking. He heard the ribbons rip which only turned him on more. The feel of her mouth, the tight, hot wetness. The pressure and sucking nearly undoing him. Even as her fingers played delicately with his balls. He groaned loudly, grunting. One ribbon snapped as he yanked his arms, thrusting up, up into her mouth. Coming roughly. Quickly. "Moira! Moira! Oh God, God!" He nearly sat, fell back, breathing deeply as she abruptly freed him. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"John? Are you all right? You're starting to spill, soldier," she teased breathlessly. Voice hot, heavy. Face flushed, eyes bright. Body tight with need. Flooding with desire. Lust.

He looked at her, the observations only making the unfulfilled agony worse. His erection throbbing. Body tense, straining. "I know," he tersely informed. "Untie me."

"No." She smiled. "Not yet." She slid up, frowned. Grabbed another ribbon and secured his free arm back to the headboard. "You are too strong, John, for these ribbons. Too strong." She ran her mouth down his arm, nibbling the muscle. Slid down him to kiss his lips. "So fucking strong, colonel...so fucking hard..." she whispered. "I could ride you, John. Or give you a hand job. Either way you'd come," she offered.

John was staring in fascinated passion. Lust. "I said untie me, baby," he refuted, playing along. Wanting to see how far she would go. Wanting her.

She shook her head. "No." She ran her hands down his chest, his sides. Along his hips. Eyes raking over him. "God...do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are, colonel? Oh, I suppose you do...you with your lots some women. Every inch of you, John..." She scooted so he could feel her arousal on his thigh. She caught hold of his cock. Stiff in the wet, clingy material of his shorts. "Hmm...maybe I'll just tease your cock and leave."

He scowled. "You wouldn't dare, baby."

"Wouldn't I?" She caressed, making him shift. Squeezed, making him groan.

"Easy there, baby...that's not one of your popsicles!"

She laughed. "Isn't it? I thought you liked it rough, sweetie? Wanted me to bite?" She mouthed him again. Took him in and bit gently. Then a little harder. A little harder.

"Ouch! I'm not kidding, Moira...oh fuck, oh fuck," he sighed as her bite gentled into a sucking, swirling that made him jerk in her mouth. Made him tense and almost spurt.

She freed him, shook her head. "Can't you hold it, John? Geez!" She swatted his cock, slid up his body again. She kissed him. A full, generous kiss.

John yanked. The ribbons ripped as the headboard creaked loudly. Moira started, freeing his mouth but he grabbed her, held her in place. Kissing her greedily. He slid down the straps of the bra, unhooked it and yanked if off her. "My turn. Don't move. Hold onto the headboard," he growled. He lifted his head to kiss her collarbone.

Moira gasped, whimpered as he sloppily mouthed her bare breasts. Sucking the hard nipples. Gently, gently nibbling as he slid under her. Lifting to possess, to tease. As she arched, helpless, straddled over him awkwardly. She moaned as he tugged, teased, then slid his mouth down her waist. Hands on her thighs, then her hips as he traveled.

His hands ran long her sides and abruptly to her rear to squeeze, squeeze. Suddenly slide between her legs. "Hold onto the headboard, baby, because this is going to be rough," he warned, voice harsh. Fingers sliding along her cleft, feeling the drenched material of her panties. He kissed down her waist, along her thigh. Shoving her legs apart.

"John! John, no, no, I'll be too loud!" she warned, breathless. Leaning lower now, on her knees over him as he was still beneath her. "Please, John, please, oh God, oh God, oh God..." she exclaimed, straining. Whimpering. Grabbing the headboard as he gently bit her inner thigh, then mouthed her against the panties. His fingers slid along her rear again, into the panties to tease, to pry. As he bit the material, nipping her gently, then pulling down the fabric with his teeth. Moira lost her breath, squirming. Gripping the headboard as the erotic sensations inundated her. "John! Oh John, John, please, please, oh John..." she whimpered. The need escalating.

John yanked them down, freed them and slid them off with his hand. "Nice and wet, baby, fuck," he growled. He kissed up her thigh again, then scooted, lifted. Mouth delving into her as his hands grabbed her rear and squeezed.

Moira cried out, squirming wildly but he held her in place, shoving her down to him as he took possession. "John! Oh John, John!" she shouted, strained, arching and moaning as the pleasure rushed over her. The orgasm so close, so close, then bursting as his sucking, nibbling mouth hit one area. His fingers gliding under her to find another to rub, to probe. Moira tried not to scream, clutching the headboard for dear life as he brought her ruthlessly, unbearably. A double orgasmic rush that brought tears to her eyes. Her body quivering in delightful release, amazement. But suddenly he was gone. She caught her breath in a gasping hitch.

John wiped his mouth, coming at her cries, her noises, her pleasure. He slid out from under her. Moved behind her onto his knees. Pushed her into a deeper lean against the headboard and thrust deeply into her. He groaned in relief, filling every inch of her. Demanding. Shoving. She clenched, tightened but he thrust harder, harder, sliding along her, in her with ease. Grunting with the physical pleasure.

Moira cried out again, nearly smashing her hands into the now slamming headboard but John was there. Snugly in her, on her, grabbing her hands back to the front of the headboard. Then cupping her breasts, kneading and gently pinching the nipples to make her whimper, moan. Then sliding down to tickle the front of her mound, to rub, to insert his fingers as he increased the momentum. Faster and harder as he craved release. Moira's cries coming in time to his every thrust now, his every grunt. Each stroking of his fingers. His name a stammering litany escaping her ragged breaths. Until she became inarticulate. Arching as he gave her yet another intense double climax. She shifted towards his hand as it braced hers on the headboard. Mouthed his finger, his knuckle as the sobbing pleasure overtook her. She bit, bit hard to stifle the rising whimpers and strangling the screams. Clutched the headboard as it slammed, slammed, slammed. As he rocked her with thrust after thrust. Relentless.

John was in ecstasy. Losing himself in the sexual passion, domination. Feeling the bite on his knuckle but only being turned on by it. By the way he was taking her. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh Moira, so fucking tight and sweet! God I could stay hard all day in you!" he growled, moving faster still, bringing himself in a rush of energetic orgasm. Shuddering wildly, spasm after spasm jerking deeply inside her. Unable to stop until he had reached full release. Ejaculating wildly now with each shattering thrust but finally slowing. Easing the tension, the need.

Moira freed his knuckle, gasping. Hitching sobs and moans strangled in her throat as he was still stroking, stroking. Easing himself now with slow motions. She blinked back the tears as he freed the headboard to fondle her breasts. Caressing, running his thumb over the nipples. He ran kisses down her shoulder. Hot breath on her bare skin. He slowed, slowed, unable, unwilling to pull out of her even as the arousal receded. Calming. As her clenching, quivering climax slowed. Relaxed.

"Moira," he breathed. Voice low, possessive. Raw and sexy. He sighed, a pleasured, drained exhalation. He pulled out of her finally. Rested on her a moment. Bodies slick with sweat, with sex. "Let go."

Moira was leaning on the cracked headboard, still clutching it tightly. Her last whimpering moan in the air as he had freed her. She felt locked in place. Echoes of pleasure, of his possession everywhere. Body still thrumming.

"Moira, sweetheart, let go. You can let go," he said quietly. Kissing her cheek. He freed her breast as his other hand finally slid out of her as well. He touched her hand, gently loosened her grasp. Prying her fingers off the wood.

"Oh? Oh..." she realized breathlessly.

John smirked. All but collapsed onto the bed, onto his back. Breathing deeply. Deeply of roses, of sex. Moira scooted wearily next to him, on her aside away from him, catching her breath. Her heart still racing. Endorphins pumping. John felt elated, sated, almost giddy from the orgasmic rushes. The sheer intensity of the sex. He wiped the sweat off his brow, looked over at her. Gaze devouring her messy hair, shapely rear. The curves of her hips and her back. Sweat glistening. She rolled onto her back. He stared at her breasts, waist, crotch. Trickles of liquid on her thighs, between her legs. The sight made him produce a sound low in his throat. He looked back up at her flushed face, wide brown eyes. "Moira. My Moira." He licked his lips. Uncertain of her mood. "Um..."

"I...I guess we showed them, huh, John?" she said wearily.

He smiled, too tired to laugh. "That we did, baby. We showed the whole city this time. And you know what? I don't care."

"You...you outdid yourself, sweetie. Two. Two doubles..." she marveled, still trying to catch her breath. To calm her racing heart.

"Guess that would be four. Wow...a quadruple? That's what you get for going down on me, baby. God that was the hottest thing you've ever done. So far. Hey, you came before the quad so that makes five. Damn."

"Shut up, John," she chastised softly.

"Wow...no wonder you were melting and screaming like that..."

"You...you were too loud, John. My God, the sounds you were making!"

"Alpha male, baby," he reminded. Boasted. He closed his eyes a moment, echoes of pleasure lingering. He felt her move, opened his eyes to see her getting off the bed. "Moira?"

"I'm dying of thirst, John," she rasped, walking to the bathroom. John stared at her swinging hair, her back, her naked rear. He smiled, rested. But got up to follow her, drawn irresistibly.

Moira stood at the sink, drinking greedily from a glass. Slurping the water in quick gulps. Still overcome, enamored, embarrassed. Their wild exuberance, their noisy enjoyment like a bold statement to anyone who may have overheard them. She was disturbed by the biting. She nearly jumped as John appeared behind her. "What?" she asked. Drank some more.

John smiled. Gave roving over her reflection in the mirror. He watched in fascination as a drop of water spilled from her lips to slide along her throat, then down to hang precariously from her rosy nipple. Seeing his stare she frowned, wiped it away to his disappointment. "Me too. Thirsty," he croaked. "Please."

She filled the glass, leaning slightly, her breasts moving together. Her rear just brushing against his crotch. She straightened. "Here." Her voice was a whisper. Uncomfortable at his staring.

He took the glass. Drank greedily. She watched him in the mirror. The long swallows. The water spilling down the corner of his mouth. He licked his lips, set the glass aside. Stepping closer to press his body to hers. His hands slid up to cup her breasts. Fondling as he eyed the wedding rings hanging between them. Her hair tickled his chest, his skin. "So beautiful, Moira...so fucking beautiful. I ache for this, you know," he said into her ear.

"John," she complained, her body reacting despite herself, but he turned her to him. Kissed her. A slow, gentle, savoring motion of his mouth on hers. Guiding her rosy lips. Gently teasing her tongue with his own.

He pulled back from her. "We need a shower."

"What?" She watched him move to the shower. Lean in and turn on the water. She smiled at his lean, muscled body. Fading bruises and cuts. "John? No. We can't. You know what will happen in there,"she warned.

"I know," he said mildly. He stepped into the shower. "Ahh...that's feels good! Come on, Moira." He beckoned with one hand. "Don't you leave me alone in here, baby. What if I drop my loofah?"

She laughed. "No, John...it will lead to–"

"I know." He paused, considered. "Seriously, Moira, if I do drop my loofah I'll have trouble retrieving it. My leg is kind of sore now...can't imagine why. Moira? You wouldn't leave me like this, would you?"

Moira sighed. Smiled. She stepped to the shower. Opened the curtain to stare upon him. Gulped in sheer admiration at his drenched body. Water streaming all over him. "Oh John...you..." She stepped in as he made room for her. Oblivious to his slow smile, his eager gaze roving over her naked body as it became wet. Wetter. She touched his chest, ran her hands up his broad shoulders. Kissed him. "John."

He pulled her into his arms. "Fuck," he said quietly. So intimately in her ear she shuddered with the desire flowing between them.

"John? You...colonel? No way! Is that your loofah?" she teased, feeling him stirring along her thigh. She stepped to glance down at him.

He smiled, laughed. "Yeah, baby. I cannot resist you wet. It's one of my top fantasies of you. Here." He guided her out of the shower, pausing only to turn off the water. He kissed her again. "Wrap."

"What? You...oh!" He lifted her suddenly, making her grab onto him. Wrap her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips. "John! We're soaking wet!" she complained.

"I know, and will be much wetter in a sec or two," he teased. He carried her to the bed. Dumped her onto it, causing her to laugh. He grinned, moved over her, trapping her. Kissed her gently, soft kisses but his hands parted her thighs. His mouth moved down to lick the water on her breasts, to suck and tease.

Moira arched, whimpered. She caught his shoulders, feeling his suddenly very erect cock already probing her. Amazed at his stamina, at how eager he was yet again she stammered, "John, John, wait. Wait! I...um..."

He paused, smiled. Slid up to kiss her. "Got it, baby. I know. Slow and sweet. Don't you worry." He entered her gently, groaned. Began a slow, careful rhythm. Thrusting steadily, slowly, but not as deeply or as hard as earlier. Guessing she was tender from the rougher, more energetic sex.

Moira kissed him repeatedly, relaxing into the softer flow of the lovemaking. She circled his ear before he moved to kiss her throat, then her breasts. "Oh John! Oh John,"she purred, rocking with him. Legs widening as the pleasure grew, grew at a comfortable yet still exciting pace. She moaned, squirmed, stroking his arms, his back. "Oh John! John, John..."

"Ssh, not yet, but close, Moira. Hold onto me...ah...right there..." He moved a little faster, a little deeper. Still careful but coming. Groaning softly in approaching relief. "Fuck, fuck."

Moira tensed. Tightened. Arched as he quickened. "Oh John! John, John, John!" she enthused as the orgasm came, came. A delicious spiral that blossomed.

He groaned, coming as well, a pleasant rush and release. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck," he breathed. "Moira...my Moira..." He caught her mouth with his. Slid his tongue in and out in perfect time to his cock still gliding along her. She arched, helpless, murmuring. Clinging in ecstasy the pleasure rolled, rolled. She relaxed and he thrust harder. Released and relaxed. Freed her mouth to nibble her earlobe as he slid out of her. "How was that, baby?" He fell upon her, shifted some of his weight off her. Rested.

She sighed happily. "Perfect, John. Oh John...you...you..." she purred, kissing him. Kisses on his face, his brow. Fingers in his hair, down his back as he lazily caressed a breast.

"My Moira...six. Six!" he boasted. "Has any man ever given you six?"

She smiled. "No, John. You're the first. Of course technically it was only four."

"No. Six. Two doubles. An oral. And this." He shifted. "I'm going to crash now. Okay, sweetheart? Don't move," he mumbled, exhausted. Drained. Already drifting to sleep. But he lifted his head to meet her gaze. "Sweetheart, I am sorry. The things I said...I didn't mean to hurt you. I love you, Moira."

She kissed him. Touched his face. His jaw. "Okay, John. I...I can't even remember what you said right now...I...I have to wonder, sweetie, are you trying to fuck me to death? All those orgasms! The things you did to me...with me..."

He smiled. Moved to pull a blanket over them. Settled upon her again. "Fuck us both to oblivion, baby, and back again. Yeah. Moira...my Moira. Give you everything, baby. Nothing. Nothing will take you from me, nothing," he mumbled, falling asleep.

"Nothing will, John," she assured. "I promise. I love you, John. I love you...I will make this right, don't you worry. We'll find a way to–"

"Ssh," he soothed. "Sleep."

"Seriously, John...how did you keep it up for so long?" she asked.

He snorted. "Ssh," he repeated. "Later. Need to sleep. Please."

She shifted under him. "Seriously, my God, sweetie, you kept it so hard for so long I thought you might have needed medical attention! I'm serious, John! Your–"

"Moira!" He smirked. Lifted his head to meet her solemn gaze. He kissed her. "Hush! No more, please! Give me an hour to sleep and recover or I will need medical attention, all right?"

"Okay. Sorry, John."

He frowned. Kissed her again. Settled. "So fucking sweet," he muttered. "Six," he boasted quietly.


	10. Chapter 10

Synthesis10

The knocking woke John out of his blissful sleep. He stirred, moving. He was on his side, entangled with Moira. Their naked bodies pressing under the blanket. Dry from the shower, the sweat, the sex. Warm and cozy snuggled together. Body heat wafting as he lifted the blanket, then settled it upon them again. Scents of sex and roses hovering. Of him. Of her.

"John?" Moira stirred against him. Her body deliciously warm, soft. Pliable. Erotic as she slid along his. Blinked open her eyes.

"Ignore it," he said quietly. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. Onto him. "Ssh."

"But it could–"

"Don't care. Ssh." He kissed her gently, savoring the taste of her slightly swollen lips. Smirked. "They're probably checking to see if we survived our sexual exuberance. Ssh."

Moira shifted on top of him. "Is, is the door locked?" she asked softly. Trying to scoot under the blanket to hide in case it was not.

John smiled. "I don't know. Did you lock it?" His arm slid round her, pinning her to him as she squirmed. "Ssh. Keep still, baby. I'll cover you. Literally, actually." He rolled so she was beneath him. Kissed her. Kept kissing her until she murmured, forgetting about the door as he distracted her.

"Oh John, oh John,"she whispered, returning his kisses.

"Oh Moira, oh Moira," he echoed, smiled. "See? All gone."

"For now." She gasped as he rolled onto his back again, held her on top of him. Hands sliding down her back, along her curves. To gently squeeze her rear. "John! John, I've been thinking. Are we having too much–"

"Sex again? No, hell no. And not too much exuberance either," he continued before she could protest. "Or intensity. Although that was pretty fucking intense fucking, baby. Six. Six!" he beamed smugly.

"Shut up, John. Geez!" But she smiled, kissed him.

"Baby, I never knew the color green would turn you on like that. Wow. Seriously, wow."

"Shut up, John. It was the exuberant romance. And yes...the green," she admitted.

"Ah ha! See! Oh, shirt or boxers?"

"Both." He laughed. She smiled, kissed him. "John...we, um...I mean...you..." She sat, sliding off him. Covered herself with the blanket. Looked round the room. The light was grey as the sun descended. She stared at the proliferation of roses. Bit her lower lip, debating. John was staring, staring. Watched her nibble before releasing her lip. "We need...we need to be serious, John. We need to talk. But not like this."

"Not naked in bed, you mean?" he asked, touching her thigh. Stroking.

"No. Serious, John. We...we have to talk about things. About this whole mess. About, about the biting too. The escalation of..."

"Oral erotic fixation?" he asked, savoring each word. "Yes. I am so looking forward to that particular conversation, baby. But we need to wait. At least..." he lifted the blanket. "At least for an hour, or two."

"What? Why?" She looked at him. He dropped the blanket over him. Smiled. She rolled her eyes. "Hilarious, John! We are not having sex during that conversation! Or afterwards! I'm serious, John! Can't you be serious?"

"Of course I can be serious, Moira. Just not now. Not when we are naked in bed after glorious hours of exuberant sex. Not when you are glowing with all those orgasms and so fucking beautiful I want to just keep you right here. Like this. Not with rose petals sticking to your back and your pert little ass, baby." He laughed, ran his hand down her back, dislodging them.

"John!" She batted his hand away, frowning. "More importantly we need to talk to Weir."

"No." He smiled. "About the oral erotic fixation," he said, savoring each word again, "I can promise you I will never, never hurt you. I'll never leave a mark on you. But you can leave marks on me. Like this." He showed her his knuckle. The teeth indentations.

Moira stared. "John? I'm sorry! Oh my God! I'm so sorry!"

He smiled at her mortification. It was arousing him again. "No. I like it. I like bringing you so hard you bite me. In fact, baby, you can hurt me a little. I'd like you to do that now. Biting, scratching...clenching on my cock so hard it makes me stiff as a board. But no hard biting on my ordnance," he continued seriously, "no biting hard. What you did earlier, that was fine. That was sweet fucking bliss. I've seen you bite a popsicle, Moira, and you can't bite my cock like that or we will both be unhappy."

She stared at him. "You...you want me to...to bite..."

"Yes. A little. Like this," he showed her his knuckle again. "Or when you are nibbling my neck, my shoulder, my lips, my ear, whatever, wherever. It's a turn-on for me. When you are turned on and exuberant and coming so hard, so fast, so helplessly aroused and pleasured. Pleasured by me. You make these sounds, delicious sounds and it turns me on too. Makes me rock hard. And when you nibble or bite...when you bite...I want that. Okay, Moira? You won't hurt me. I know you think it's kinky and well, it's a guy thing. A John thing. Like your Moira thing. You know. It gets me off in a rush of–"

"Moira thing?" she asked.

"Yeah, you know. Anyway, my point is you can bite me all you–"

"What Moira thing? I have a Moira thing?" she asked, puzzled.

He grinned at her perplexed expression. "Oh yes. You do, baby."

"I do not! Unless you mean the, the earlobe?"

"No."

"Then what?" At his smug smile she frowned. "John! What?"

"You really don't know? Well, I know. And that's all that matters. I know exactly how to turn you on, baby. Besides the earlobe. Besides green."

"You're just teasing me," she decided, looked away from him. "We need to see Weir. But first we need to have dinner. I can straighten out this mess, John, don't you worry." She eyed him.

"No." He languidly stretched. Yawned. Looking so content, so utterly satisfied she shook her head, sighed. He appeared deliciously handsome and available. She had to look away again. Emotions overwhelming. She clutched the blankets. "Oh oh, here come the melodrama," he teased.

"No." She stared at the roses. So many. So vivid. All the colors. Breathing all the scents. She swallowed a sob. Laid down, snuggling against him suddenly. His arm slipped around her. Stroking. Comforting. "John...John...I can't. I just...I just can't..."

"Can't what, sweetheart?" he asked, kissing her brow.

"I can't...I can't lose you, John,"she admitted in a small voice. "I can't let you go. Even though I should, I know...all the, all the flak...all the...John, John, please...please..." Her fingers clutched.

He kissed her. "Ssh, Moira. I won't let you go. Ever. I can't let you go. Never mind the flak, sweetheart, I can handle it. Don't you worry. Nothing gets between us. No one." He lifted her face to his, kissed her lips. "I'll give you a hint. About the Moira thing. Tongue."

"Tongue?" she asked, distracted. Her hold gentled on him. Comforted by his assurances. "You do all sorts of things with your tongue. All of them very, very wonderful."

"Yeah, I know. But there's this one thing. One little thing that makes you just...well, let's see if you can figure it out, shall we? If not we'll just have to have sex again so you can."

"Hilarious, John." She sighed. Snuggled. "I wish we could stay here. Like this. Just you. Me. But we have to have dinner. See Weir. Clear up this, this mess."

"No, sweetheart. We can stay here, but I wouldn't mind having dinner. That's all. I'll handle the flak, don't you worry, baby. Ignore all that shit I said earlier. I was drunk."

"Oh!" She sat, wrapping the blanket around her. "The flash drive! Damn it! I forgot all about it! I need your help to break the encryption."

"Okay. Later." He sat. Kissed her. "Let's go, Moira. Dinner. Then back here to have sex until you figure out the Moira thing." He got out of the bed, gathered his scattered clothes.

"John! No! Dinner, see Weir, then the flash drive. And don't take my panties!"

He laughed. "Too late, baby. They are nice and sodden." He crossed into his room, waving them over his shoulder at her.

"John! Damn it!" He laughed again. She scrambled out of the bed, collecting her clothes. Selecting clean underwear and cleaned up in the bathroom. She emerged. Hair neatly combed, tied back from her rosy face. A turquoise t-shirt and jeans covering her. She changed socks, pulled on shoes. Stood by the bed, staring at the disordered blankets. The rose petals crushed, scattered. The cracked headboard. "John! John!"

He strolled into the room, eyed her. "What?" Hands on her hips she was surveying the damage.

"Look!" She pointed. "The headboard! Can you–" she stopped, looking at him. He had on the black and green flannel shirt, was buttoning it slowly. The black jeans. Boots. "You...you can't wear that," she warned.

He smiled. Eyed the headboard. "Wow." He neared, touched the crack. The splintered side. Leaned over to examine it. "Well, well, we certainly are doing a number on this, aren't we?" The pride rang in his voice.

"It's not funny! Can you fix it?" She was staring at his rear, outlined in the tight jeans. He leaned over farther and the shirt lifted on one side, giving her a glimpse of his bare skin.

"Yeah, maybe. But I won't."

"Won't? Why?"

He straightened, turned. Smiled. Saw the admiration, the love. "Let's see if we can break it, Moira. Completely snap it in two. While we are one," he added with a leer.

"No! You need to fix it. Now! And you, you can't wear that."

"Why not? It makes you happy, Moira. It makes you want me," he added, ignoring her concerns over the headboard. "Which in turn makes me want you. So."

"Yes, but...you..." She moved to him. Touched his arm. "You are too, too gorgeous in that."

He smiled. "I know." At her annoyance he laughed. "Besides, I have this now." He held up his left hand. Showed her the wedding ring. "Hey, where is yours, by the way?"

"Oh! I forgot–"

"You forgot? That's unacceptable, baby. You are mine. My wife. Mine. Every inch. Let me." He slipped his hand down the front of her shirt. Into the bra, across a breast. "Hmm...can't seem to find it, baby."

She laughed. "John!" She pulled his hand out of her shirt. Pulled the chain free. She unhooked it, and set it aside, sliding the two rings free of it. He took them suddenly from her. He moved to one knee in front of her. Took her left hand. Slid the rings onto her fourth finger. Moira stared, startled. Stunned. Almost forgetting to breath.

"Will you marry me, Moira? Oh, yeah, you already did. Moira Sheppard." He stood. Drew her into his arms, kissed her. A lengthy, searing kiss. Slid his tongue into her mouth. He pulled back, smiled. "My Moira. Only on base."

"Huh?" Dazzled she could only stare.

"The rings. Only here. Not off world. Let's go. I'm starving! Need to replenish my energy."

"John...oh John...you..." She flung herself into his arms, kissing him.

After several kisses he gently freed her. "Whoa, don't get all girly on me now, Moira. At least wait until I've eaten, okay? Wow." He led her out of the room. Down the hallway.

"John!" She stopped, pulling him to her. "We can't!"

"Can't what? Eat? We have to eat, Moira," he reasoned.

"No! I mean we...we...what if, what if someone...what if someone...you were so loud, John! And I was really, um, loud...we..."

He smiled. Charmed by her embarrassment. "So? We're married. We have passionate sex. If there's any flak I'll handle it. Now let's go. We're not going to hide, Moira. I'm not going down that road, nor are you. Let's go." Moira followed him. Reluctant. Head down as if she had done something wrong. She nearly crashed into him as he stopped, turned to her. "Moira! Get us a table. In the back. Coke or lemonade? Moira?"

"Huh?" She met his gaze. Colored. "I...um..."

He shook his head. "Focus, baby. You'd think I'd given you six orgasms. Oh wait, I did."

"John! Shut up! And it was four."

He laughed. "Go. Table. In the back." He watched her move to the back of the cafeteria. Find a table near the wall. Almost lost in the shadows. He shook his head again. Glanced at the other people before moving into line to get their food.

Moira sat, waiting. Reassured as no one was looking at her, noticing her. The women were too busy staring at John. The men busy eating. She smiled as Katie joined her. "Hi."

"Hi. I trust the colonel is back in your good graces then? He took every single rose I had! But he was so cute and embarrassed and worried about you, Moira, about how you might still be oh my God!"

John looked over, tensing at the exclamation. But relaxed. Moira was smiling. Katie had hold of her left hand.

"You...you...you..." Katie stammered, staring at the rings.

Moira laughed. "Yes. We got married back on Earth. We had to keep it quiet because of the–"

"Congratulations! Oh Moira! That's wonderful!" Katie leaned over to hug her friend. Sat back. "Tell me everything! Everything! I want details! That ring! How many carats? Is it real?"

Moira flaunted it. "Yes, it is real. A real diamond! Seven."

"Seven and a half, actually," John corrected, sitting next to Moira. He set the trays on the table.

"Colonel...congratulations! How did you ever afford that?"

"I, um, know some people..." he vaguely answered, glanced at Moira. He began to eat.

"What's the inscription on the wedding band?"

"_Gra anois agus godeo._ Gaelic for–"

"Sex now and forever," John quipped. Katie snorted and Moira nearly did a spit take.

"John! Love now and forever!" she corrected, setting down her Coke with a glare.

"Are you sure, Moira? You told me it meant sex. Sex now and as often as we–"

"Shut up, John!" She elbowed him as he laughed. "The rings belonged to my grandmother. John has some fancy gold bands but he misplaced them so we used these."

"It's lovely! So romantic! Tell me about the ceremony!" Katie enthused.

"No. No girl talk while I'm at the table," John warned. "Besides, there was nothing to it. We pledged, signed, exchanged rings. Done deal. Now, the honeymoon. That was something! Ow!" he complained as her elbow hit his side.

"John! Eat your dinner!" She looked at Katie. "It was lovely, but quick. And sweet. We had–"

"Just like the honeymoon, but that was long," he drew out the word, "and so, so sweet."

"John! Eat!" He laughed. Moira sighed. "We didn't have a lot of time because we had to get back to Atlantis and only had a day to–"

"And a night to seriously okay, okay," he grinned at her dirty look. "Eating. No girl talk," he warned, "or I will reveal every detail, Moira."

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll tell you later, once Colonel Grumpy is busy somewhere else."

Katie laughed. "Okay. Congratulations, again! I'll leave you two lovebirds alone." She laughed, left them.

John shook his head. "Wonderful. I'm serious, Moira. No girl talk around me, okay? What? Why aren't you eating?" he asked. Moira was staring at nothing. Sipping her Coke.

"I'm just thinking. About what to say to Weir."

"No. No thinking. Six. Six, baby," he intoned, hand moving to touch her thigh under the table. "And the night is young."

"Four, sweetie. Will you reign in that libido of yours, John? God, you'd think you were on the enzyme, not me!" She sighed. "Sorry. I'm tired. I don't feel very well...something I ate, I guess."

"You've hardly eaten a thing, sweetheart." He touched her rosy cheek. "You feel hot, Moira. Are you sure you're okay? I thought you were just flushed because of us, but now..."

"I'm fine. What do you expect after four fucking orgasms?" she teased. Grabbed half of his sandwich and bit into it.

"Six. Exuberant fucking orgasms," he corrected with a wink. Relaxing as she ate.


	11. Chapter 11

Synthesis11

Moira led John out of the cafeteria. She paused, taking his hand. Turned to him as they stood in the hallway. In the shadows. "We have to settle this now, John, or it will fester. I'll do the talking. You just be quiet and gorgeous. Since you fucked it up the first time by talking."

He frowned. "Hilarious, Moira. I don't want you involved. I don't want–"

"I don't care what you don't want, sweetie. Let's go." She began to walk, but nearly fell backwards as he hadn't moved to follow her. Hadn't moved at all as he stood. She turned, freeing his hand to frown. "John? John Sheppard, will you move that fine, fine ass of yours?"

He smiled briefly. But kept silent. Stood immobile. Intractable. Folded his arms across his chest. Scowled at her. "No," he finally said.

"John! You–"

"I said no, Moira. I said I will handle this, not you. Got it? No one is taking you away from me or getting between us, so you may as well move that pert little ass of yours to our room, baby."

She glared. "Damn it, John, stop it! Look, I know you are trying to protect me, to shield me from all of this and I love you for it but we have to face this head-on. Both of us. We'll need Weir in our corner, right? Once the IOA comes calling. Let's go get this over with, okay? John? Drop the caveman act and move!"

A smile formed, but he shook his head. "No. I said I'll handle it," he repeated. Stubborn. Nothing touches you. Nothing. Except me."

She sighed. "Fine, sweetie. You be all macho and Alpha male then. I'll go see her by myself!" She whirled, crossed into the control room.

"Shit. Moira!" John followed, trying to catch her arm but his leg buckled. He halted, swore. Limped as he pursued her. "Moira!"

"Watch and learn, flyboy," she called over her shoulder, ascending the stairs rapidly.

"Fuck," John noted, watching her quick strides, the swing of her hips, her rear. He rubbed his leg. Pain flaring. He was about to start to climb the stairs when Moira appeared, hastened down them. "What is it?"

"She's not there. Pier. You–"

"Hell no!" He grabbed her arm, halting her before she could elude him again. "Fine, we'll go together then. It won't be pretty, Moira, I'm warning you. I–"

"Let me do the talking, flyboy. Come on!" She took his arm, guided him towards the southeast pier. "How's the leg?"

"Sore. So make this quick ,baby, before I become incapacitated," he stated gruffly.

"Shut up, sweetie," she whispered, freed his arm to walk ahead of him. She slowed her steps. Elizabeth was engaged in a lively group discussion with a selection of scientists. All vying to get their points across. Hands gesticulating in the air. The sun was setting slowly, an orange ball diving into the dark blue waters surrounding Atlantis. The mood was convivial. Animated. But at her approach all the voices stopped. Stilled. All eyes turned to Moira and she paused. Uncomfortable. But she felt John standing behind her. Very close. "Excuse me. I am sorry to interrupt, but could we have a quick word, Doctor Weir? In private?"

Elizabeth nodded. Glanced at John. Glanced at him again. The sunset's orange glow spilling onto him. Onto his black and green shirt as he stood behind Moira, expression unreadable. Yet a quick, fierce glint illuminated his green eyes, as he surveyed the other men who were still eying Moira. Elizabeth stood. "Please." She gestured, began to walk down the pier to a more secluded area. A quieter area.

Moira followed, feeling her stomach coil with tension. Felt John at her back, right behind her. Still silent. Reassuring. She glanced at him and he nodded, warmth filling his gaze for a moment. She looked back as they reached the secluded corner.

Elizabeth leaned on the railing a moment, turned to them. "I can imagine what this is about. And I'm sorry I upset you, John. We got a little heated, and I said some things I shouldn't have. About your um, personal life. But my opinions about your reckless behavior still stand."

"That's not much of a–" John's complaint was cut short by Moira's elbow poking his stomach.

"I agree, Doctor Weir. John shouldn't have gone on the mission at all since he was injured. But it's not the first time, nor will it be the last. He is always risking his life to save another's."

"True, but he–"

"Is reckless? Yes. His duty to the people of Atlantis is always foremost in his mind. And I don't think any of us can change that reckless streak when it comes to saving the people he has a responsibility towards, as military commander of Atlantis. I'm hoping he'll be more prudent in the future but you and I both know his sense of duty, of responsibility drives him. Even to the point of endangering his own life."

"Yes, that is true, Moira. But that is the problem. He needs to realize his importance here. Even, and I hate to say this, but even at the expense of others."

John tensed. Touched Moira's back. "Not Moira."

"I know," she agreed, startling John as his hand stilled on her back. "And I'm sure he does too. And will act more prudently in the future. Won't you, John?" She glanced at him.

"No. Not when it comes to–"

"Of course you will, John, because there's more at stake now," she argued, turning back to Elizabeth. "And about that, um, I'm sorry. I know I've been monopolizing John's time and all but we did just get married and we hardly see each other as it is and we, um, we, well, we..." she began to splutter as embarrassment blossomed. She took a step backwards and found herself pressed up against John. "I mean–"

"What Moira means," John smoothly took over as his hand slid to caress her arm, "is that we did just get married and hardly see each other as it is so our time together is very special and very private and nothing, nothing is going to interrupt or interfere with that time. Nothing. No one."

"John!" Moira objected, seeing the tension between Elizabeth and John. Startled by it. Startled by being the cause of it. "What I meant is that we will try to be more cognizant of John's duties and demands, and he will have his earpiece with him at all times should the need arise to contact him. But we, we were not giving up any of our time together, I mean...I mean..."

"She means we were not giving up any of our time together. Not a second of it," John continued as Moira faltered again. "And whatever we do in private, together, is no one's business no matter how loud we are or how much we enjoy the–"

"John!" She elbowed him, blushing. "I'm sorry, Doctor Weir. We...um, we'll try to be more discreet and–"

"No, we won't," John argued. "In fact we are going to be even more ow!" he complained as she elbowed him again.

"More discreet," she continued, overriding him, "but you have to understand that we, we did just get married and this is all new to us, to you, I mean all of this, us, this..."

"I see. I can't have John being incommunicado for hours and hours at a time, so yes, make certain he has his earpiece with him at all times," Elizabeth temporized, glancing past Moira to John who was frowning but keeping silent at the moment. His hand still on Moira's arm. "And yes, I know he will more than likely keep risking his life to save others. I just need him to see his importance here to all of us, not just to his team, or to you. You, Moira. You are the problem."

"Whoa! What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" John flared, hand closing over Moira's arm as he moved to take a step, to shield her.

"Yes, I know," Moira agreed, freezing John in his tracks. He stared at her as she stepped to block his forward motion. "I get that, I do. But you need to understand that I'm not going anywhere," she stubbornly asserted. She folded her arms in front of her, across her stomach. "As much as you may dislike it things have changed. As much as you may dislike the situation I am with John now and he, he cares for me. I know you think that will interfere with his job here as military commander but it won't. It won't. I won't let it. Nor will he."

"But he has, Moira, as well you know. I understand that he cares for you but he needs to tread a fine line between his personal feelings and his responsibilities to the–"

"He will. He does. Honestly, what did you expect him to do? Leave me out there on that planet with Ford and his darker self and an army of mutants?" she asked, anger rising suddenly. "I may be just a lower echelon scientist, of no importance or rank but I am still a member of this expedition and should expect to be valued upon the quality of my work here. Not because I am John's wife now but because I have been working with Carson on the Wraith genome and all the rest of it! I don't like the fact that he came after me injured any more than you do! No, I hate it more than you because it's my fault he was out there injured in the first place! But I couldn't stop him, nor could you or Carson or anyone! We can both ask him to be more prudent in the future and maybe he will be, but probably not because he is stubborn and obstinate."

Elizabeth smiled. Glanced at John who was staring at Moira, a surprised expression on his handsome face. She eyed the other woman. "True. It's not that I don't value your work, here, Moira, far from it. The problem is exactly as you outlined. John's feelings for you. But I know I can't change that or any future recklessness on his part. Especially concerning you."

"No, I can't. He could temporize his reactions, though, and he should. If I can get him to see past his own stubbornness and Neanderthal mentality sometimes. Men," she sighed, causing Elizabeth to laugh.

"Tell me about it!" she heartily agreed. Glanced at John. "I'm glad we cleared the air on this. John, don't you have anything to add?"

John shrugged. "Apparently not. Seeing as I am a caveman and all. You heard my wife."

Moira turned to him. Touched his arm. "Sorry, John. Let's go. I need you to help me with the data on the lap top. Excuse us." She moved past him, quickly crossing the pier and entering the building.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Wow...I don't know what to say, John. I didn't expect that."

"Nor did I...no, I did, come to think of it. But what I said stands. No one interrupts my private time with my wife. Nothing. But I will be reachable via earpiece or comm unit." He turned, limped after Moira. "Moira!" he called, catching sight of her as she rounded the corner. He cursed, limping. Paused as she reappeared, moved to him.

"John? Do you need to see Carson?" she asked, glancing down at his leg. Back to see his warm gaze on her.

"No. Just slow down, will you? No, better yet speed up ahead of me so I can see that pert little ass," he teased with a smile. "Six, baby! Six!"

"Four. Come on! I need your help with the flash drive." She took his arm, guided him slowly down the hallway.

"Six. Are you sure you need my help? Me being a caveman and all," he chided. "And what the hell was that? John cares for me? Cares for you? Hell, I love you, Moira!" he declared after they had entered her room. He stopped, hands on hips as she freed him, moved to get her data pad. "Moira?"

She turned to him, data pad in her arms, up against her chest like a shield. "We need to work on this, please. We'll have to use your table." She entered his room as she talked. "Now I've tried all sorts of entries but so far I can't access any of the screens or data. John?" She turned. She was alone. She sighed, annoyed. Returned to see him standing in her room. Implacable. Arms folded across his chest again. Irritated look on his handsome face. "John! I need you to help me with this, not get all pissy again!"

"Tough. Sometimes I don't think you believe me, Moira," he accused. Gaze roving over her.

"What? John, we need to access this data now! You can pout later, all right? I need those passwords!"

"No. I want to know." He limped to the bed. Sat. Waited.

Moira sighed. She freed her hair from the confining ponytail. Ran a hand through her hair. "Want to know what, John?"

He licked his lips. Hand resting on his thigh as the pain slowly ebbed, faded.

Moira sighed again. Moved to him. Sat near. Touched his thigh. Began to gently caress, to massage the muscle. "How's that, sweetie? God you are obstinate sometimes! John?" She kissed him. A gentle brushing of her lips against his. "Honey, I'm sorry. I didn't meant to upset you, but I had to say those things to Weir. About you having to consider your own importance here. And to not be so damn reckless. I love you, John."

"I know. But do you, Moira? Do you know?" He caught her hand on his thigh, stilling it. "Do you have any idea?"

"John," she eyed his hand on hers, "we need to work on the flash drive. Please. It could be important. Very important."

"As important as this? As us? No." He fingered the wedding ring, the engagement ring she wore. He kissed her. Ran his mouth lightly up her throat to her ear. "Do you have idea how much I love you?" he asked quietly. Voice low, sending a shiver along her skin. The promise of passion teasing. "Not just the sex, although I love that, man do I love that. But you, Moira. You. All of you. Every stubborn, infuriating, sexy, shy, sciency inch of you."

"John..." She started, stared. Felt tears. Pulled her hand from his but he drew her to him. Kissed her passionately.

"Did I mention how much I love the sex?" he teased, moving her onto his lap now. Pulling her to straddle him. His mouth catching hers over and over. His hands running up her back. Then down to grab, squeeze her rear.

"John!" she laughed, squirmed. Pushed halfheartedly at his chest. "The flash drive!"

"Go for seven, baby? I've still got on the green boxers. You know, the ones that drive you wild for some inexplicable reason."

"Five, sweetie, and no!" She scrambled off him. "Get your mind out of your pants and focus, sweetie!"

John licked his lips. Began to unbutton his shirt. "It's not my mind I want to get out of there, baby." She tried to be stern, but laughed. He smiled. "Come on, sweetheart. Get those clothes off. But leave the panties. I want to pull them down with my teeth again." He stood. Slowly pulled off his shirt, dropped it to the floor. Very aware of her avid stare. Although she hadn't moved. Was still holding the data pad like a shield. As if frozen in place. He sat. Removed his boots and dropped them to the floor. "And lose the bra. I want those beautiful tits."

"Shut up, John!" she flared, but her voice was breathless. As he undid his belt. Undid his pants. Unzipped. Paused, about to pull them down when he looked at her. Slowly smiled. He freed them. Beckoned with one hand.

Moira smiled. Set the data pad on the table, moving quickly to it, then back to him. She neared. Gaze moving up and down his body. He waited, watching her every move. Every emotion on her face. She brushed her hair behind her shoulders. Emboldened by his love, his avowals. His desire. She pulled off her shirt. Removed her shoes, her pants. Revealing the matching set of teal bra and panties. She moved to her knees in front of him. "Colonel Sheppard...I suppose it is still tease John's cock day, isn't it? But you must help me with the flash drive afterwards. Okay, sweetie?"

"Get me off. I'll get you off. Then we can work on the flash drive, baby," he agreed.

She sighed. "The things I have to do for you, John Sheppard."


	12. Chapter 12

Synthesis12

Moira scrambled out of the bed. Out of the tangled blankets. Out from under John's warm, heavy body. She flung back her hair, pulled on her shirt and panties. Grabbed her pants but his fingers suddenly enclosed her wrist, stopping her. "John?"

John smiled, sitting to keep better hold of her. "No. You and I both know we'll be at it again pretty soon, baby. A quickie's all well and good, but not enough. Seven. Seven, Moira!" he boasted.

"Five, sweetie. And yes, colonel, most impressive," she agreed, smiling at him. Can you manage to think above your belt now and help me with that flash drive?"

He freed her wrist. Considered. "Yeah. At the moment. Even though I am not wearing a belt. And it was seven, baby! Seven! Hey, let's go for ten! Do a triple and have them all at once."

"Hilarious, John! Five, and there is no way you could keep it up for another five. Come on, flyboy! I need another part of your anatomy now." As he laughed she moved to the table. Cleared a space for the data pad. Moving roses out of the way. She breathed in their heady fragrances. Touched the soft, delicate petals.

"That sounds like a challenge, baby," he teased, getting out of the bed. He pulled on his shorts, moved towards her. She was leaning to scoot the vases away from the data pad. "Wiggle that pert little ass for me, baby. Finest in two galaxies, I swear!"

"Shut up, John! I need you to focus!" she scolded, but wiggled her rear nonetheless.

He laughed. "Sweet! I am focused, believe me, Moira." He slid into the chair behind her.

Moira powered the machine. Sat. Gasped as she landed squarely on John's lap. "John!"

He laughed, held her there. "Right here, baby. Now talk to me about this flash drive you are so eager to explore."

Moira moved the cursor. Moved herself on him, getting comfortable. "Is your leg okay with this, John?"

"Yeah...fine. So are other parts of me too. Talk."

"I bet," she snorted, making him smile. "I've tried everything but I can't even get past the first encryption!" she complained. Paused as his hands rested on her bare thighs. As he leaned close. Warm breath ticking her cheek as he viewed the screen. "I only know that it should be something I should know, or you should know. What password would you use?"

"Hey, it wasn't me, remember? What have you tried?"

"Names. Dates. Even our code names. Sweetie. Baby. Even the safe word strawberries. But I don't think they had one. I mean I don't think they had a safe word. I don't think their relationship progressed as ours did. Unless the word isn't specific to them but to us. Specific to me. Probably you, John. But he thought I could guess it, or you could. Hell, I even tried panties but that wasn't it. John, what would you have used in this situation? John?" She shifted. "Are you listening to me or just trying to get it up?" she accused.

John laughed. "Both, actually, baby. I was thinking. Really. You tried O'Meara?"

"Yes. I told you I tried names, nicknames, code names. I don't know what else to try. Come on, mensa boy, use your brain cells instead of your cock."

"Mensa boy? At least I'm no longer a caveman."

"No, but you do grunt like one," she commented.

He laughed. "Fair enough, baby. Hmm...I would rather use my cock but all right." He kissed her cheek, thinking. "Something you could guess. And me. Something known only to us. Not to easy to break. I'd say caramel but he wouldn't." He shifted so her rear was pressing on his crotch. His arms went round her as he touched the keyboard. Typed a phrase. The screen came to life. "Bingo."

"Bingo? It was bingo?" she asked, surprised.

"No."

"What was the word? Come on, mensa boy, spill it!"

He smiled as she turned to eye him. He kissed her. "It was a phrase. Our phrase. No, your phrase. Oh John John John."

"What? It was..."

"Yes, baby. What you say when you come. Kinky minds think alike, I guess," he shrugged.

"I don't believe it," she grumbled, turning back to the screen. "No, I do believe it." She shook her head, eying the files popping into view.

"So logically the next password will be my phrase when I come. Observe. Secondary password." He typed it in. The screen blinked. The files lined up like soldiers.

"Oh! You mean fuck–"

"Fuck, fuck," he completed. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

"What? Using our phrases when we come as passwords?" she questioned, perusing the files.

"Yeah. And to just fuck, fuck, fuck," he teased into her ear. Kissed down her throat. He ran his hands up under her shirt to cup her breasts, to fondle. Caress.

"John...I...not now! You..." She murmured, shifting on his lap. Feeling his growing hardness under her. "Geez, John! What will the next one be? Don't answer that! Let's look at Wraith biology first." She moved the cursor to the file. Double clicked. "Shit. What password now?"

The cursor blinked, waiting.

"Hell if I know. Use your brain, paleo girl. I'm preoccupied." He ran his mouth down her throat again, fingers kneading her breasts. Moving in the chair to align himself with her. To spread her thighs a little more.

"Stop it," she said softly, not really complaining. But she considered. Typed. The file opened. "There! It was O'Meara. That wasn't too hard."

"No, not yet, but give it time," he wooed, shifting again.

She laughed. "Cut it out, John, this is serious!"

"Sorry. So...anything useful?" he asked, pausing in his attentions, his seductions.

"Yes. Look at this! The Wraith genome! Their Wraith, I mean, and ours...the ATA gene...look! It's almost a separate species! The retro-virus, the Hoffan serum, the enzyme...Ford's experiments! Look! It's all here! Some of these formulas are too complicated for me. We need Carson on this!"

"We'll get him," he assured. Perusing the other files over her shoulder.

Moira was still scrolling through the opened one. "Biochemical reactions. Versions of the enzyme. Whole genetic sequences we've only postulated so far! They are so ahead of us, John! It's scary how advanced they are!"

"Click on that. Technology."

She closed the file, move to the one he wanted. "Password?"

He considered as she shifted on his lap. Moving to feel his hardness between her legs now. Her body responding to him despite herself. She gyrated a little. He groaned softly, hands still on her breasts, cupping gently as he thought. "Sumner."

She glanced back at him. His handsome face was somber. Serious. She gently kissed him. Turned back and typed the name. The file opened.

John leaned closer, reading. "Scroll down. There. Wow...the technical readouts for the hybrid ship...Dart and Jumper diagnostics. Sweet. Look at that! Their P90s are modified with a laser stunner. Cool. What's that? It looks like a Wraith stunner but had Ancient drone tech in the launcher. Wow. McKay needs to see these specs ASAP."

"He will." She closed the file. "Where now?"

He glanced at the files. "Atlantis."

She moved the cursor there. "Password?"

"Hmm...give me a sec." He caressed her breasts again, kneading the nipples. Moira arched a little into him, lifting a little as his erection was trying to poke up into her panties. "John..."

"Gyrate, baby...damn you are getting wet now..." He kissed her throat, nibbled her earlobe. Moira whimpered as she gyrated on his lap. Slow motions to feel his arousal. His kisses alluring, hands seductive.

"John...oh John...I guess you were right about the sex...go for six?" she asked, the delicious anticipation building, building.

"Eight." He slid one hand down into her panties to probe, to rub. To slide into her as she gasped, shifted. Thighs widening on him. Leaning back into him as he gained more access. She tensed, lifting. The pleasure swirling, swirling. "John, oh John...John..."

He nibbled her earlobe, gently bit as his fingers probed, probed to make her arch, whimper, squirm on him now. "Get up." He freed her as she stood awkwardly. Leaning against the table. He yanked down the panties. "Sorry, baby, but I can't hold this any longer." He ripped the material off her, opened his shorts. Erection painful now. Eager. Hungry.

Moira gasped at the sound of tearing fabric. The feel of his hands ripping off the panties. Running along her inner thigh. She exclaimed as his mouth kissed down her lower back, shoving the shirt out of the way. He gently bit her rear making her cry out in surprise, arousal. He roughly pushed her down onto the table, thrust up and into her.

Moira cried out at the unexpected kinky actions. Her body flooding with desire, with need. His abrupt thrust startling. His bigness, hardness shoving her onto the table as he groaned, grunted. Began to earnestly rock her. She braced herself against the table, nearly shoving the data pad off the surface, nearly colliding with the roses as the table shook, shook with each deep thrust. She arched, squirmed, unable to stop sliding as he took her, controlled her. His strong grip on her hips hauled her back onto him, guiding her with each hard, deep thrust.

John groaned, groaned with the physical pleasure, the sexual excitement of taking her roughly, suddenly. A new position. A new angle creating a delicious snugness that his cock craved. He shoved her up higher, standing to thrust harder, faster now. Leaning to kiss her bare back, nibble her shoulder. He freed her hips to pin her wrists to the table.

Moira cried out, moaning, whimpering. Each sensation vivid, wild. As he brought her closer, closer. As he sped up to make the table vibrate under her. He groaned loudly, exulting in the sex, the possession, the release in his grasp now. "John! Oh John, John, John!" she cried as the climax blossomed brightly, enfolded her in waves of tense pleasure. His earnest thrusts and the table's vibrations transporting her to wild, wild passion. She grabbed the table, clenching hard on him as he kept her pinned down, helpless.

John groaned, pleasure and pain colliding with each exquisite spasm rocking his body. "Moira! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fucking sweet!" he growled as the orgasm slammed into him. Body tense, tight, then shuddering with violent relief. A frenzy of ejaculations until he finally slowed. Easing at last, gliding along her every fold, drowned in her heat, her wetness. Her muscles clenching in time to his last thrusts. "Moira, oh Moira...fuck! Fucking sweet! Come on, baby, keep doing that...oh fuck that is sweet!" He slowed. Leaned upon her. Kissed her shoulder, throat. Freed her wrists to slide his hands down her arms. "Eight, baby. Eight. Intense. Climaxes!" He punctuated each word with a last, possessive thrust. His voice low in her ear, husky. Male.

Moira gasped, stuttering whimpers escaping her as wave after wave of pleasure hit her. Then receded. "Six," she managed to correct. He chuckled, straightening. Hands sliding down to squeeze her rear, making her squirm. Reluctantly he pulled out of her. Pulled her up to her feet, onto his lap as he sat down in the chair. Exhausted. Sated. He caught her breasts again, but then turned her head to kiss her mouth. Over and over even as his hands wandered along her body again.

"John!" Moira fell back against him, sated. Amazed. Tired. She grabbed his hands at her waist before they wandered lower. "Six," she repeated. Breathless.

He smiled as she squirmed on his lap, trying to get comfortable. He moaned. "Ah baby, eight. Nine, actually, I think you doubled on the table, didn't you? Having sex with me and the table now, baby?" He slid his hand down to push between her legs.

"John!" She shoved his hand away from her, but he shoved it back, probing. A silent sob escaped her lips at his renewed attentions. He kissed her neck, her cheek. "John, John...oh God you are trying to kill me!" She squirmed, shoved his hand off her again.

He laughed quietly. "No, I just want to fuck, fuck, fuck," he intoned low. "Off. Now." He yanked the shirt. Smiled as she leaned forward to lift the shirt over her head. He swept her hair in front of her, kissed up her spine. "Turn to me, sweetheart. I want your mouth."

She lifted, turned to straddle him, facing him. Ran her hands up his chest, kissing him. Deep, delving kisses to entwine their tongues. She nibbled his lower lip, sucking, gently biting before moving across his stubbled jaw. Circled his ear and bit. He groaned, reveling in her attentions. He kissed her, ran his hands up and down her bare back. Pushed her gently back to kiss her breasts. Tongue swirling on her nipples. She arched, fingers tightening on his arms. "John, oh John...don't stop, don't stop..." she breathed.

"My Moira...so fucking sweet," he said low. Moving to kiss her mouth again. To claim possession of her. Over and over.

Moira lost herself in his kisses, his caresses. Hardly noticing when he moved, lifted her. Swept her up into his arms as he stood. Carried her to the bed. "John? John!"

He set her onto it, moved after her. "Later. We can do the rest later...fuck, I want you, baby. I want your undivided attention. I want all of you, Moira. Every luscious bit. I want to fuck us into oblivion again, you and me. I want to fuck the socks off your feet. I want all of your love for me, Moira. All of it."

She squirmed under him, pushing halfheartedly one moment, then lavishing kisses on him the next. "John, John, we're having too much sex again! John, we have to finish the flash drive! John, oh John, oh John, so fucking sweet!" she succumbed to his sensual attentions. "Go for seven?"

"Nine, baby! Go for nine!" he heartily agreed. Kissing her. Guiding her body to his, to where he needed it to be. Indulging in the sex. Indulging in the intimacy of their joining. Indulging in the emotional, physical excesses. Craving the repeated sexual intensity.

Craving Moira Sheppard.

* * *

Moira stirred. Woke hearing a loud, obnoxious noise. Realized it was John as he was snoring loudly, sprawled on his back in the bed. "John! John!" She elbowed him. He snorted, rolled onto his side, quieting. She shook her head, amused. She surveyed the darkened room. The data pad still open, the screen saver dancing in colored hues on the screen. The roses a dark forest around the hardware. She could smell the floral essences on the warm, still air. Along with the heavy scent of sex.

She moved a little, felt a tenderness from all of the exuberant, vigorous sex they had been having. Felt sensations all over, vivid. Intimate. She looked at John, wondering over his virility, his seemingly insatiable appetite. Not to mention hers. He was fast asleep, finally exhausted. Finally replete at last. She smirked, wondering if would be as amorous tomorrow. She felt hot. Touched her cheek, brow. She got out of the bed. Moved to her dresser and pulled on a pair of pajamas. Moved back to stare down at John.

He was still asleep, on his side. Hair a dark mess against the pillow. Long lashes veiling his closed eyes. Bare shoulder visible as the blankets covered the rest of his long, lean body. Legs sprawled across the bed. He started to snore softly again.

She crossed to his room. Moved back to the threshold. She pulled a few chairs across it, effectively creating a barrier, however flimsy. With a tired sigh she slipped into his bed. Pulled the covers up over her and snuggled. Needing to sleep. Needing to be alone for a little while. Needing a break from all of the emotional, physical excesses. A respite from the repeated sexual intensity.

A break from John Sheppard.


	13. Chapter 13

Synthesis13

John woke. Rolled. Found himself tangled in the sheets. He reached across them. Searching. Searching. "Moira?" he muttered. Missing her warmth, her softness he sat. Stared round the room as he yawned. Darkness swallowed it still. He glanced at the clock. The blue numbers told him it was nearly two in the morning. He stared at the table where the data pad sat, surrounded by a sea of roses. Dark blossoms like clouds threatening to overwhelm the small machine. "Moira?"

He sighed, grumbling to himself. Got out of the bed and headed for his room. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, as his shin hit one of the chairs blocking him. He stumbled backwards, leaning down to rub his leg as the pain hit. He stared, uncomprehending for a moment at the odd assemblage of furniture. A blockade to his room. To her. He wondered at that.

He shoved the chairs aside. Crossed into his room. Headed for his bed. Stopped. Moira was asleep on her side, curled in the blankets. He tugged them from her. She had on her sabertooth cat pajamas. He felt a surge of affection for her, erasing his irritation. He slipped into the bed next to her. Spooned against her. "Moira?" he asked, gently nudged her. He settled close, arm over her waist. Relaxing he went back to sleep.

* * *

Moira woke. Found herself sprawled on top of John. She lifted her head. Scrambled to sit as she stared at him. Startled. She glanced over to the threshold between their rooms. The two chairs were across from each other, fallen to their sides. She looked back at him. Nudged him. "John? John!" She pushed. Poked his bare arm. Realized suddenly he was completely naked.

John stirred. "Ow!" he complained, catching her hand as she poked him again. "What the hell? Moira?" He blinked, staring up at her.

"Didn't I leave you in my bed?" she asked, frowning.

"Our bed," he corrected. "And yes, you did, baby. I followed you. And what the hell was that?" he pointed towards the chairs. "Trying to keep me out, were you?"

"Yes."

"Yes?" He stared, startled. "Huh?"

She tried to free her hand but he kept hold of it. "John! We need to finish that flash drive. There could be more vital information on the–"

"Don't care. Why?"

She sighed. "John, please. Let go. We need to finish that flash drive and give the respective files to Carson and to Rodney, then I need to collate all of this with our own data to see if there is any kind of correlation between their enhanced Wraith and our own, plus the–"

"Why?" he repeated, a trace of anger in his voice. Also worry. His grip on her hand gentle, but firm. Unyielding. "Look, Moira," he continued at her silence. Her stillness. "Sweetheart, are we, um, are we okay? I mean...you left our bed...blocked the doorway there. I know my libido was in, um, overdrive. So was yours, by the way. I'm just saying...I guess I sort of, um, overdid it. The sex, I mean. The hours and hours of exuberant sexual ecstasy, repeated sex. Nine, baby, nine! Oh, sorry. Ah. Is that it?" he guessed, quelling his flare of pride. "Moira?"

She kissed him. "We're okay, John. You are really terrible at this, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Yes, Moira, you know that. Answer me."

"Yes. You and your fucking ordnance. Now let's get dressed and work on that flash drive so I can–"

"Whoa." He caught her arm, detaining her as he sat. Pulled her gently to him. "Whoa, baby, are we okay? I detected a hint of anger there. Shall we talk now or file it for later usage?"

"And by usage you mean..." she asked, tensing. Gaze narrowing in warning.

He smiled, ignoring it. "Yeah. Sex. I mean sex, baby. You–"

"Fuck you, sweetie!" She pulled free.

"Please do."

"Damn it, John, don't you ever listen!" she flared, hitting his arm. "You...you just don't get it, do you? You just can't see past your own, your own–"

"Cock?" he guessed. "Words fail you, I know," he baited. Laid back to stretch languidly. Folded his arms under the pillow, under his head. "I have that affect on women. And after nine fucking climaxes, well...no wonder you are hating me right now, sweetheart. I mean, let's face it, in your very limited experience this must have seemed like a carnival ride that would never end. Sexual ecstasy over and over. Frankly I'm surprised you could even get out of our bed, much less barricade the doorway like that. As if that could keep me from you. As if anything could."

She shook her head, sighed. "Seven, you arrogant bastard. I'm sorry, John. I'm not like your fucking lots some women who were probably used to your sexual excess."

"No...I've never done it nine times like that with any one but you, baby. You." He studied her as she was frowning at him. "Well? I...um, I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, suddenly worried again. He sat. Stroked her arm. "Moira?"

"No," she finally answered, to his relief. "You would never hurt me, John." She reclined in the bed suddenly, drawing him to her. He settled close, holding her as she snuggled against him. "I'm sorry, John...I just...you...my God, John! You just...you just couldn't get enough! I mean...my God, John! You...you..."

"Ssh." He kissed her gently, stroking her arm, her side as she snuggled, clutching at him. "My Moira. Hmm...let me see...how about today we go for twenty, baby?"

"John! Damn it!" she swore, shoving free and sitting as he laughed. "You son of a bitch! I hate you!" She scrambled out of the bed. Glared at him. "Get out of your bed and put on some clothes! We have work to do! And for God's sake keep that fucking ordnance of yours in your pants!" She strode into her room as his laughter chased her.

Moira showered. Quickly combed her hair, tied it back from her face. Dressed in an olive green t-shirt and navy pants. She moved to her bed, quickly made it, smoothing over the rumpled blankets and sheets. She straightened the roses on the table, staring at the vivacious blooms. Shaking her head at the seeming incongruity of her husband. Giving her dozens and dozens of flowers. Declaring his love for her. Then indulging, insisting on repeated sex. The increasing intensity, possession, roughness.

She sat at the table. Brought the data pad back to life from its own dozing. She opened the Wraith biology file again, perused it.

John entered her room. Freshly showered, shaved. Clad in a black t-shirt and olive pants. Boots quietly clomping on the floor. He rubbed his chin, staring at her. Studying her as she chewed on her lower lip, staring at the screen. Freed her lip to softly mutter to herself. Shake her head. Sigh. He neared. Stood behind her, reading the screen over her shoulder. "Problem?"

She started, having not heard him. She glanced at him. "No. Well, yes. There's a lot here to sort through...and frankly I'm no geneticist so it will take some time."

He grabbed a chair, sat next to her. "What now?"

Moira closed the file. "How about the anomaly?" She moved the cursor to it. Debated. Glanced at John. He was eying the screen. Waiting. She looked at the screen. Typed a word. The file opened.

"What was the password?" he asked, as information began to scroll across the screen.

"Lemon." She smirked at his raised brow. "Must be for Rodney. Wow...look at those equations!"

"I'm no physicist but damn that looks complicated. Crap. Earmark that for Rodney as well. No. Let me send it to him now." He touched the keyboard, typed rapidly. "Maybe he can find a way to shut it down."

"The anomaly? I doubt–"

"If anyone can do it Rodney can. I want that thing shut down for good."

"John! The, the colonel's relying on me to help with this data to–"

"Don't care. The only Atlantis that matters is this one. The only reality that matters is this one. The one with you. And me. I want that thing shut down for good, so he can never, never get his hands on you again," he grimly asserted. His voice low, serious, sexy. His gaze intense. "Nothing will take you from me, Moira. Not even him." He closed the lap top. "Enough for now. Let's get some breakfast," he said in a lighter tone. Met her gaze. "What?"

"I'm not hungry. You go. I can keep working on this."

"What? I'm starving! How can yo not be hungry? Are you feeling all right, sweetheart?" he asked, gaze perusing her. Noticing her hand on her stomach. The slight hunch to her frame.

"I'm fine, just not hungry. My stomach is upset again. Go. Eat. But come back here, John. I still need your help with this, okay? In case I run into another roadblock."

"Okay." He kissed her. "Are you sure you're okay? And we're okay?"

"Yes, sweetie. Go."

He relented. Stood. "I'll bring you something back. I need to tell Rodney to keep those equations to himself for now. Same for Carson. Send him that data, would you? Then we can see what else is on there. Back in ten, Moira."

"There's no need to rush, John. I'm fine, okay? If I get hungry I can eat one of the chocolate bars."

"Cute. Back in ten, Moira." He kissed her again. He headed for the door. "Oh!" He circled back to his room. Moved to her and dropped two pieces of fabric on the table. "Sorry, baby. I didn't mean to rip off your panties like that, although it was really hot. I couldn't wait to get them off that pert little ass of yours. I'll buy you some new ones."

She smirked. "John, John, I can buy my own underwear, thank you. God knows what you would get for me, so no."

"Hmm...think what I could get for you, Moira. Although I do prefer nothing...but I do like my trophies."

"Shut up." He laughed. "Will you go?"

"Going. Moira...we are okay, right?" he tested. Hand on her shoulder.

"We won't be if you don't go now, John! Go!"

"Fine." He kissed her. "Moira, we'll go panty shopping real soon."

"Shut up and go!" she ordered, but laughed at his earnest expression.

He smiled. "Going, Mrs. Colonel. Back in ten."

Moira smiled, shook her head as he finally left her. She shoved the torn panties aside, opened the data pad and set to work once more.

* * *

John wolfed down his breakfast. Grabbed a tray and placed a Danish on it, a glass of orange juice. A banana. He limped to where Rodney was sitting, devouring an omelet with gusto, eyes glued to his data pad. "Rodney, keep those files close. Your eyes only, unless you need Zelenka to help you understand them."

"What? Why would I need his help to understand these...oh ha ha," Rodney snarled. Glared at his friend. "Why the secrecy? What's on here anyway?"

"One is tech. Ancient and Wraith tech, the hybrid ship and weaponry. The other is about the anomaly. The equations for triggering it, and hopefully closing it."

"From...oh...the other reality? The other Sheppard?"

"Yes. Keep it encrypted for now. I'm just being cautious, is all. Let me know what you can make of them ASAP." He crossed the room, sat at a table. Where Carson was staring at his data pad, blue eyes wide.

Carson looked up at him. "Colonel? Moira just sent me the most astounding–"

"Yes, I know. Your eyes only, doc, for now. Intel from the other side."

"You mean the other reality? The other Sheppard?"

"Yes. Keep it close, for now."

"All right. Where is Moira anyway?" The doctor glanced round the room.

"In our room. She said she wasn't hungry but I'm bringing her this anyway. She hasn't eaten a lot in the past few days, actually," he said, frowning. "Her stomach's been upset a few times, and I thought she looked all flushed, but I thought that was from all the...anyway, she's been all over the board, Carson! One minute she's all over me, the next she's pissed! One minute she's all sciency–"

"Sciency?" Carson asked with a smile.

"–and the next she's all concerned over the colonel, the other me, I mean! So emotional and then she's all analytical...women!" he groused.

"Is she sick? Or stressed? She's been through a lot recently, John. It could be residual effects from the enzyme. She was on it for three days, right? Maybe it's hormonal then, but don't tell her I said...John?" The sudden look on John's face made Carson worry. "What is it?"

The thought dropped like a bomb. John stood, nearly upsetting the table. "Crap. Oh..." Then he was gone, limping rapidly out of the room. Forgetting the tray in his haste.

"John? John!" Carson called, bewildered.

John entered her room. "Moira! Moira, I–" He froze. Retching sounds were emitting from the bathroom. His stomach clenched in sympathy, in tension. He neared the closed bathroom door. Stopping again as more sounds of violent vomiting filled the air. He waited. Touched the door cautiously. Silence. The sound of water running. The toilet flushing. "Moira? Are you all right?" he asked.

Silence. Then her voice, weak. Rasping. "Do I sound all right?"

He smiled briefly, relieved at her sarcasm. "No, you don't. Do you want me to–"

"No! Give me a minute!"

He stepped back from the door. Waiting. Oddly nervous, apprehensive.

The door opened. Moira staggered out of the bathroom. Her face was flushed. Eyes bright. Skin damp from a washcloth. Her hand was pressed to her stomach. "I...I'm okay now...I guess...something doesn't agree with me, I guess..."

"Moira? Are you pregnant?"


End file.
